


The Great, The Mighty

by frostedroyaltea



Category: Daredevil (TV), Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Ableism, Alcohol, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby Fusion, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bisexual Nick Caraway, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Car Accidents, Character Death, Crimes & Criminals, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Demons, F/F, F/M, Gangs, Gun Violence, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Italian Mafia, Lesbian Jordan Baker, Longing, M/M, Magic, Nick Caraway is bisexual, No Smut, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Old Gods, Organized Crime, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Pagan Gods, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Rating May Change, Russian Mafia, Short, Short Chapters, Stand Alone, Swearing, Tags May Change, Tattoos, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 21,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostedroyaltea/pseuds/frostedroyaltea
Summary: They were beautiful.
Relationships: Daisy Buchanan/Jay Gatsby, Daisy Buchanan/Tom Buchanan, George Wilson/Myrtle Wilson, Ivan (Daredevil TV)/Original Character(s), Ivan Yerkhov/Louis Chevalier (past), Jordan Baker (The Great Gatsby)/Original Character(s), Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page, Matt Murdock & Karen Page, Meyer Wolfsheim & Jay Gatsby, Nick Carraway & Jay Gatsby, Piotr (Daredevil TV) & Ivan (Daredevil TV), Tom Buchanan/Myrtle Wilson, Vanessa Carlysle/Wade Wilson, Wade Wilson & Ivan (Daredevil TV)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 2





	1. The Party

**Author's Note:**

> there's a playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6LQ2pvI5A20aU0nJWBofrZ?si=OhADG389TOaJvrgRTPv61Q

Jay Gatsby’s mansion was loud. People were everywhere. Dancers, singers, actors and actresses, broadway stars. The five vory recognized Karen page especially. They had gone to one of her shows recently. One about a young woman who was an aspiring author. 

Wolfsheim and Parke met Anatoly’s eyes. He nodded and nudged Vladimir’s elbow with his own. “Wolfsheim,” he whispered. The three pairs of eyes lifted and looked to where their leader was. And indeed Wolfsheim was there, young Parke in tow. 

“Stupid,” Ivan said under his breath. “Bringing Parke is here.”

  
  
“Why is that?” Piotr asked. 

“Dear Petya, you know how old that boy is.”

Piotr scoffed. “He’s as old as you.”

“Hmmm.” Ivan’s eyes darkened as he watched young Parke follow Wolfsheim over to them, on the balcony above the pool. “Yes,” he admitted. “But he has a naivety about him. He does not yet know this world.”

“And you do?”

“‘Course I do. I know you lot.” Ivan tipped his head back and drained the champagne. Across the room, above the heads, sweeping gowns and suit tails, and brightly coloured feathers he caught the eyes of a young man. Ivan licked his lips and reached for another glass. He touched a finger to the green carnation, pinned to his suit’s lapels, adjusting it. 

The man raised an eyebrow. Ivan met his eyes and drained his glass. Beside him Piotr snorted. “You find yourself a suitor for tonight Vanya?”

“Hmm. Perhaps.” The two watched as the man flicked an eyebrow up, turned heel, and vanished in the dark of the staircase. “And I will see you lot tomorrow.” He handed Vladimir his glass. Vladimir’s lip curled as he took it. “Goodnight. I will be seeing you all tomorrow.” Ivan turned, and headed towards the staircase, going up to a room floors above.

“Aw. Pakhan Anatoly. Vladimir. Dmitry.”

“Wolfsheim,” Anatoly greeted. “Have either of you seen or heard from Gatsby? Last we heard from him was the invitation.”

“No.” Wolfsheim clicked his tongue against his teeth. “He does not know many people.”

  
  
“He doesn’t?” Piotr asked, eyebrow raised. “With these parties?”

  
  
“No one sees him,” Parke interjected. “People just show.”

Vladimir tilted his head up. He wasn’t by the piano, above the pool of water, now shooting streams of water in the air. Not by the staircases, talking to his guests. If Vladimir knew Gatsby at all, or any men at all like him, he’d be somewhere up high where he could survey everything and still go unnoticed. “Aww. Up there.” And a shadowed figure was indeed looking down on all of them, hands clasped on the highest balconies rail, leaning down on his arms. 

His eyes flashed in the lights, reflecting off the women’s headdresses, and Vladimir caught them and held his gaze. He winked. Gatsby retreated from the balcony’s rail. “Shall we?” Anatoly said. 

The five walked together to the staircase Ivan and the man disappeared up. Wolfhesim turned, stopping Parke in his tracks. “Stay here Parke. Enjoy the party.” Wolfsheim smiled, his lips and eyes sharp like knives.

Parke nodded. He picked a glass off a traitor a waiter carried through the throngs of people, dancing, singing, laughing, chatting. He drank. He joined the throng.


	2. The Fall of an Empire

“Hmm. Howard Stark and Maria died last night.” Piotr set the newspaper down on the side table. “Wonder what’s going to happen to their company.”

“Their kid, Tony’s his name, isn’t it?, will be taking over. Of course, he will, with a tech empire like that,” Anatoly said.    
  
“Ford’ll be catching up now.”

“Let him,” Vladimir said. He traced the diamonds set in his ring. “We could always do with advancements to our world.”


	3. Their First Meeting

“Ooh,” Ivan said, voice delighted. “He is quite handsome.”

“Find another one?” Vladimir asked bored. He stared down at the book in his hands. They were still waiting on Gatsby.   
  


“I’m going to go talk to him,” Ivan said.

“You do that,” Vladimir said, not at all sounding like he was paying attention.

*

"I have an invitation," Nick said, waving the invitation in the guard's face. The guard did nothing, didn't wave him on.

The people behind him pushed, the ones in front flowed. Somewhere Nick felt eyes on his. He looked up and saw a dark haired man watching him. He had a green flower pinned to the front of his suit. A green carnation, Nick noticed upon closer inspection. He met the man's eyes. The man winked. And retreated from the edge of the balcony.

"Hey," Nick said to a passing servant. "I have an invitation. Do you know where Gatsby is?"

"No one sees Gatsby," he said.

"That's foolish," a woman said. "I've met him before."

"I heard he was a German spy."

" _I_ heard he killed a man."

*

"I have an invitation," the man said, waving it like it was a flag.

He was asking him. Around him rumours about Jay Gatsby swirled through the air. Some true, some not. 

Ivan knew the murder one to be true. He had been there. Had gotten hurt. The altercation had cost him half his leg and an uneasy alliance. 

He made his way down the stairs, stopped in front of the man, and put his hand on the man's elbow. "You won't find Jay Gatsby here," Ivan said. 

The man blinked. 

Ivan took his hand off the man's elbow and held it out. "Vanya Yerkhov."

The man took it. "Nick. Nick Caraway."

"Nick," Ivan said.

*

Vanya said his name like he was tasting it. 

*

"Nice to meet you," Ivan said.

"You too," Nick said.

"I do hate crowds," Ivan murmured. His eyes scanned the balconies above, searching for the others or Jay Gatsby. He didn't see any of them. Jay must have come out of his hole then. "I'm going up. Coming?" He turned, and looked behind him. Nick shuffled on his feet, looking unsure. 

"Gatsby is up there?"

"Should be." Ivan started for the staircase. If he wanted Nick would follow. If he didn't. Well. Then that'd be that and it'd stay that way.

After a moment Ivan heard Nick's shuffling footsteps following him. 

"Oh! Jordan!"

The footsteps stopped. Ivan stopped. And turned. A brown-haired woman looked up over the couch, the one who said she had seen Jay.

"Hello, Nick." Jordan's eyes met Ivan's. Hers narrowed. Ivan turned his back to them. Defeated. 

He sighed and made his way upstairs. Nick didn't follow.


	4. A Man's Life Story

"So we meet again."

Nick jumped and saw Vanya. "Hi," he slurred. 

"You're drunk. And not used to it I’d say." Vanya’s eyes seemed lit with amusement. 

"Hmm. It’s not like I have much access to alcohol. The prohibition was put in place before I turned eighteen.”

“That’s never stopped me,” Vanya said. “What have you been doing all day.”

"Spent the day with Tom Buchanan and his mistress and her friends."

"Fun," Vanya said dryly. "I did paperwork, had some clients come in. None of them paid enough, unfortunately." He sighed.

"Fun,” Nick said. The corner of Vanya's lip twitched up. “Clients?"

Vanya raised an eyebrow and sipped his drink. "Yes."

"What's your business?"

Vanya gave a crooked smile. He grinned. His teeth looked inhumanly sharp.

Nick tried not to shiver. There was something odd about that man.

"Oh," Vanya purred. "Nothing. Want to go up? It won't be so crowded."

Nick shrugged. "Why not." It _would_ be less crowded. He could do with some walking room. And while he was sure Vanya was planning on luring him into a bedroom he wasn't opposed to the idea. 

Vanya grinned, pleased. He looked less sharp. Actually happy. "Fantastic."

"Do you know what business Gatsby is in?" Nick asked once he and Vanya had made their way up to the third floor. He was leaning against the railing.

Vanya was standing to his side, at an angle, eyeing a closed door. "Jay's in there." He pointed a finger at the door and tapped it against his glass. "Talking to Pakhan Anatoly Ranskahov, Vladimir Ranskahov, Sergei Maksimov, and Piotr Yerkhov."

"Is Piotr your brother?"

"Hmm. Da. Yes. Yes, he is. Half brother and older by four years. Already got himself engaged." Vanya sipped his champagne. "It won't last. Not forever anyway. They're st- foolish I should say. Foolish and believing to be in love."

"You think it won't last."

"It might. Most likely not. They should wait is all I'm saying." 

"So what does Pakhan mean?" Nick asked and Ivan's smile got all sharp, fanged and like a wicked blade. 

"Oh, I can't tell you that," he purred. 

"And why not?" Nick stepped closer. Ivan blinked and looked down at him. He was taller, by an inch or so.

"I can't. It's dangerous. It's how I got my leg hurt," he gestured down to his leg. Nick hadn't noticed a limp. "I got shot and it near about got blown off. That was in Chicago."

"So you're a criminal then. And Anatoly is your boss. Are Anatoly and Vladimir related or do they just happen to have the same surname?"

Vanya drained his glass. "Smart," he murmured, eyes dark and pointed down at his glass. "I'll give you that." He cleared his throat. And louder, said, "Yes. They are brothers. And I am a 'made man' as they say in America."

Nick pressed closer. "How long will they be in there?" 

Vanya's eyes widened and he leaned in. "Who knows. These things can last minutes or hours depending on how high emotions are running and how clear heads are." He wrinkled his nose. "Sometimes it can take months to reach a decision."

"Well." Nick stepped closer so their shoulders were brushing. "If these things take hours…"

"Yes?" Vanya asked, voice eager, leaning in.

Nick slipped his hand in Vanya's. He took his glass from him and set it on the banister. "Let's go up."

*

Vanya's heart was beating fast and hard under Nick's hand. "You're nervous," Nick said, astonished.

"No."

Nick could feel Vanya's heart give away the lie.

"You are." He laid his palm flat that. Vanya's chest was warm. "Why?"

Vanya grabbed Nick's hand, the one on his chest, and intertwined them. "Have you done this before?" He shifted, the cases on the pillowcases ruffled. 

Nick uncrossed his legs and laid on his side beside Vanya. "Yes. It's… complicated. I like…"

"You like women and men, and you're afraid you're sick or broken?" When Nick didn't respond Vanya said, "Don't. Don't feel that way. It's normal. You're normal. People like us have always existed. People just like to erase us."

Nick breathed out and he felt the weight lift off his chest. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Vanya took Nick's hand again and kissed a knuckle. 

*

Nick laid on his side and rested his head on Vanya's chest. Vanya was flat on his back again now. He put an arm around Nick and lightly scratched at the hair at the nape of his neck. For all his sharp lines and angles he was surprisingly gentle.

"So you have tattoos," Nick murmured into Vanya's skin.

"Da. I do." Vanya took one of Nick's hand with the one that was not running through his hair. 

"Can you tell me about them?"

Vanya set Nick's hand on his chest and moved his fingers down it, sternum to the end of his ribs. "The thieves cross. Here," Vanya moved his under Nick's hand and Nick moved his hand across Vanya's. "A ring tattoo." 

"Of?" Nick brushed his finger across the tattoo, on Vanya's pointer finger, just above his first knuckle.

"An 'A' in place of a jewel. And on my other hand," Vanya moved his other arm out from under Nick- he missed the warmth and fingers running through his hair already -and grabbed Nick's hand. "Here." Nick's fingers brushed the back of Vanya's other hand. "A silhouette of birds. Flying ones."

"Does it mean anything?"

"Cherish your freedom," he said like he was quoting somebody. "There's another ring tattoo." And Nick's fingers were brushing Vanya's middle finger, same hand as the one with the A ring. "It's a skull, the ring square." 

"And that means?"

"A robbery. I was young and stupid. On my stomach," Vanya moved his arms up and nudged Nick with his shoulder, "sit up a second."

Nick lifted himself off the bed and Vanya put his arm out again. Nick laid back down and Vanya wrapped the arm around his shoulders and went back to lightly running his fingers through Nick's hair. 

"Here," Vanya took Nick's hand and set it just above his hip bone, on his belly, "an eye. and here." Vanya put Nick's hand on the same place on his other side. "Also an eye."

"Is that all of them?"

"Hmm." Ivan rested his cheek against the top of Nick's head. "Nyet. It is not."

"What else is there?"

"A green carnation below my left shoulder, dots on my knuckles, one for how a year spent in prison, and there's one on my back. From Russia, years ago."

"What's the one on your back?" Nick asked. His ear was above Vanya's heart. He could hear and feel the pulse quicken.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said in a small quiet voice that was almost a whisper. "Not even Piotr or our friends know."

"We don't have to," Nick murmured into his skin. Vanya scratched lightly at Nick's scalp and he melted against him. The scratches turned to a massage and Nick went boneless. "You have one on your neck too."

Vanya went still and his hand stopped moving through Nick's hair. "You saw it?"

"Yes. What does it mean?"

"Tattoos in our business tell a man's life story, his rank, his occupation, his achievements, and if he isn't or is untouchable. Tattoos can make a person a leader, a rat, or untouchable."

"What does that have to do with yours?"

Vanya sighed. "It's a knife."

"And it means?"

"It's what my occupation is. One of them, at least. Here I own several clubs."

"Illegally."

Vanya scoffed. "How else are people supposed to get their alcohol? We have Russian vodka shipped in. Real and made in the homeland. Is the best there is available."

“Don’t you also have another tattoo? By the cross?” Nick was tracing it now, the hooded figure, holding what was either an axe or scythe. He couldn’t tell.

“Quit being so observant,” Vanya said, almost whining. Nick waited for him, not saying anything, letting the silence stew. “Fine,” Vanya said. Nick smiled. “I’m a murder for higher, assassin, a mercenary, merc. Whatever you want to call it, I’m it.”

“A murder for hire.”

  
  
“Da. Yes.”

“So you kill people?”

“That’s what an assassin is Nick.”

“I don’t need you to patronize me. Don’t you care about those people?”  
  


“Honestly? No. I don’t. Most of them are politicians and none of those are good anyways. If they got kids or it’s involving kids I don’t touch it. And the rest are our rivals so I’m just doing us a favour by getting rid of them. And really the world isn’t black and white. You need to remember the grey.” 

“But _killing_?”

“It’s what I do. You don't need to worry about me. It's not like I'm one of the Black Widows.” His hand started moving again, nails scratching lightly at Nick’s scalp. “What about you? Why did you move here?”

“I’m selling bonds. And studying bond selling. I’m from the Midwest.”

“I know.”

“How?”

  
  
“Accent. How is your bond selling going?”

Nick shrugged. “Well enough. I own the small cottage that’s by Gatsby’s. I can see Daisy and Tom Buchanan’s house from mine.”

  
  
“Theirs is the one with the green light?”

  
  
“Yeah. I can see it at night. Gatsby watches it sometimes.”  
  


“Well that’s something.” Vanya’s was quiet now, slurring from weariness. “Can’t say I’m surprised.” His breathing was softening, heart slowing. 

“Daisy’s my cousin,” Nick said. 

“Mmm.” 

“That’s how I know Jordan Baker. I met them at her place. I’ll be going out with Jay Gatsby tomorrow. On his plane.” Vanya’s hand had slowed almost still now. “Are you asleep?”

Vanya made a small snuffling noise. Nick eased off Vanya’s arm and his hand dropped to the bed. Nick nudged his arm and he moved it. Nick laid back down, head on Vanya’s chest again. The music was still loud and throbbing and he could clearly hear laughter and people’s chattering. 

Nick waited a few minutes before nudging Vanya. It took some prodding but Vanya did open his eyes grumbling as he did. “Chto? Wha?” His eyes closed again.

“We should go down,” Nick said. “The party is still going on. People will be wondering where we are.”

“Not me,” Vanya murmured. “They know not to come looking for me.”

  
  
Nick felt a twinge in his chest at that. He wasn’t sure why. “Do you do this often?”

“No one’s ever stayed as long as you have. You go if you want. I’m going to get more sleep.”

“Alright. If that’s what you want.” Nick sat up and Vanya’s eyes closed. Asleep again already.

Nick put his shirt on, buttoned it. Put his suit jacket on and tied his tie. Vanya’s clothes were lying rumpled at the foot of the bed. He went and folded them, stacking his shirt on his jacket, the pants on that. He wasn’t wearing a tie. 

There was a pad laying on the dresser. He checked it’s drawers and found a spare pen. With it Nick scrawled his name and telephone number. He sat that on the pile of Vanya’s clothes. Really he deserved better than whoever he’d been with before. 

Behind him Nick closed the door on the sounds from the party and against the golden light. 


	5. The Great Gatsby's Mask

Wolfsheim had mistaken Nick for an associate of theirs. Panicked Gatsby said, “No, no Wolfsheim. This is the _friend_ I was telling you about.”

Wolfsheim leaned back and clapped his hands together. “I must apologize,” he told Nick, “I must have mistaken you for a business associate of ours.”

“Wolfsheim is the one who fixed the heavyweight championship.”

“Fixed?”

“Yes.” Gatsby nodded and his hair fell in front of his eyes. He was really quite handsome, his gold blond hair, and eyes like blue crystal glass or a clear unrippling pool. Nick really didn’t know what to make of him though.

“Hmm.” Nick was beginning to suspect some of the more… egregious… rumours were true. Vanya _did_ know him, and he was a gangster. 

“Your friend that’s selling bonds, right?” Wolfsheim asked.

Nick nodded. “Yes. I am.”  
  


“And how’s that going for you?”

“Fine. I think. I’m still studying.”

*

“Is my brother _jealous_?”

Ivan scoffed.

Piotr leaned an elbow on Ivan’s shoulder. “I see the way he’s looking at Jay.”

Ivan scoffed again. 

“You know I don’t blame him. Jay Gatsby is handsome if you're into that sort of thing.”

“Hey, Petya?”

“Yes, Vanya?”

“Fuck off please.”

“So you _are_ jealous.” 

Ivan shoved at him until he moved his elbow and went back to leaning his forearms on the balcony. “He left his number. No one has ever left his number before.” Ivan could feel his cheeks warm. “He folded my clothes for me,” he mumbled.

“A gentleman then.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “He likes Baker too,” he said, voice bitter as he did.

“When will this rivalry of yours end?”

“She started it!”

“Did she now?” Piotr pressed his bottle, still frosted from the freezer, against the exposed skin of the back of Ivan’s neck, laughing when he yelped and jumped.

  
  
“Rude!”

Piotr laughed again and danced back before fleeing through a doorway, going into a darkened room. Ivan gave chase momentarily forgetting the people downstairs. 

*

_Jay is in love with Daisy._

It made sense. Buying a house across from the bay. Staring at that green light across from the bay. The way he had reached for it, hand outstretched and grasping. 

*

“We should go to Coney Island,” Gatsby had said, arms spread wide. His house lights were still lit like he was expecting people to arrive. 

_“I have parties to fill my house.”_ Gatsby had said. _“I don’t feel lonely then.”_

“I must be getting to bed,” Nick said. “Some other time.”

“Alright then. Goodnight Old Sport.” 

Nick waved and Gatsby waved back. Gatsby smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. 


	6. Of Old Gods And New

“And who is this?” Nick asked in a whisper to Jordan.

“Matthew Michael Murdock. He was blinded at nine when he saved an old man from being hit by a truck. His father died when he was ten. Everyone in Hell’s Kitchen turned up for his funeral supposedly. Originally he wanted to be a lawyer, his friend there is-” Jordan nodded to the man with outrageously long blond hair. “That is Foggy Nelson. But now he boxes professionally.”

“He’s good,” Nick said, a little breathlessly. 

“That he is,” Jordan said. A flash of spinning blue and gold caught her eye and she turned. The woman caught her eye and winked and smiled a blinding smile. “Excuse me,” Jordan said, "I have just seen an old friend."

“A friend?”

  
  
“Yes. Mary Shelstein. You must excuse me.” Jordan set her drink on the table beside Nick’s and joined Mary on the dance floor. Both picked up partners of their own but they held the other’s eyes and smiled shared secret smiles all through the song.

*

The match ended. Matthew “Matt” Murdock was made victor. 

Ivan found him later. Neither Nelson nor Page was anywhere to be seen. Ivan found Murdock in one of the only empty rooms. He had a dog with him, a german shepherd, wearing a leather harness. There was a metal handle coming off the top of the harness. A guide dog. Probably from Switzerland or Germany. 

“Mr. Murdock,” Ivan said. Murdock spun around. He held a glass in a white-knuckled grip. His glass lenses were red and red-framed. His hair was almost a bright a red as his glasses. “I am Ivan Yerkhov. I work for Anatoly and Vladimir Ranskahov. Jay Gatsby is a business partner of ours.”

“What kind of business is that?”

  
  
“The Ransakhovs own a taxi cab service and they own a company that buys, sells, and transports car parts. Veles Taxi, the taxi cab service is called.”

  
  
Murdock’s mouth twisted into a frown. “And what does Mr. Jay Gatsby have to do with that particular business?”

Ivan grinned his sharp smile. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not at the rank yet, see?”

“See. So you’re in _that_ business in.” Murdock’s smile was fanged and blinding gleaming white.

“Not exactly. I used to work for them and continue to work closely with them. I myself own several clubs here.”

“Huh.” Murdock’s face screwed up. “So you’re own of those types then.”

  
  
Ivan fished the cherry out of his drink and ate it, chewing slowly. “Depends on what you mean by that.”

“Oh come on. I can smell that carnation from here. And I’m willing to bet that it’s one of those green ones.” 

“I thought the blind people super senses was a myth.”

Every muscle in Murdock’s body went stiff and he stood there paralyzed. “It is,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Hmm.” Ivan sipped his drink. “And yet you knew what kind it was, all the way over there,” Ivan strode over to Murdock. He and Matt Murdock were the same height. Ivan puffed his chest before he remembered Murdock wouldn’t be able to see it. “How is that?”

“You would make a fine lawyer.”

Ivan grinned sharply. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  
  
“The bible’s against it,” Murdock said suddenly, reverting back to their original topic of conversation. 

“I know what you are Murdock. There’s an anger in you, driving you. You thirst for blood and pain. Don’t you? Didn’t your grandmother say the blood of the devil run through the Murdock boys? And besides,” Ivan finished his drink, set the glass down with a sound that had them both wincing, Murdock more so. “I don’t believe in your god. He might not even exist. There is no proof of it. The old gods though, Veles Taxi was named for one. Veles.”

“That’s blasphemous.”

“And so was your birth, your father’s, his father’s. Your entire lineage is.”

“Witch,” Murdock growled.

“Not quite,” Ivan said cheerily. “Witches were healers and midwives. Your lot killed them all off. Your lot also set us back several hundred or thousand years. Thinking science is evil and the work of the devil. Odd, considering you are of demon lineage.”

  
  
“So you worship the old gods, the Slavic ones. Pagans are witches.”

“Again, not quite Murdock. Besides. Why fight? There is much suffering in the world already. I have suffered at the hands of it. My… family I should say, has.”

“Family.”

“Kind. Brethren. Kin. Brothers, sisters. Do you know what it’s like to have your entire existence hated?” Murdock opened his mouth to say something but Ivan held up a hand. “To have the pain of numerous generations weighing you down? You and I are not so different.”

“I’m happily engaged,” Murdock snapped.

“Pity,” Ivan said. “Why not-”

“Do you not want to be?”

Ivan scoffed. “That isn’t exactly an option for me Matthew Murdock. Just, live. And if what you believe is true you can beg for forgiveness on your deathbed.”

“What were you trying to get out of this conversation Ivan?”

“You fight well.” 

Ivan turned and headed for the door. 

“For a blind man?” Murdock asked, voice a sneer. “Is that what you were going to say?”

“No. You fight well. For a person. I have seen sighted people, trained sighted people, fight worse than you did today. You and I are not so different Matthew Murdock.”

  
  
Ivan was almost at the door when Murdock said, “Your limp.”

“Yes,” Ivan breathed. “We are not so different. Remember that.”

*

“We should have tea sometime,” Gatsby told Nick once his house was emptied and all the mess had been cleaned up.

Nick nodded numbly. He was truly exhausted and his brain seemed like it was full of static. 

“You could invite Daisy?” Gatsby added, voice hopeful. “But not Tom,” he added quickly. “You can call Daisy up and invite her to your place. I’ll come by, surprise her, see her.”

“Sure Jay.”

Gatsby prattled on like he hadn’t heard, “It’s been too long and I’ve already met with Jordan Baker. You like her, don’t you?” Or maybe Nick hadn’t spoken aloud? He wasn't sure.

  
  
“Huh?” Nick blinked. “Jordan Baker? Oh yeah. She’s nice. Real nice girl.” he suppressed a yawn and tried not to rub at his eyes, now itchy with sleep.

“You should go out with her.”

“Mmm. Yeah.” 

“Go on then Old Sport." Did Jay sound amused or was that just the exhaustion listening for him? "Get some sleep. I’ll ring you tomorrow.”  
  


“Mmm. Sure thing Jay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Old Sport.”

Nick stumbled home and tried not to trip over exposed tree root. Once in his room he changed into his sleep clothes going by mostly muscle memory. He barely remembered to pull down his bed covers before was collapsing on the bed and falling asleep.


	7. Horizon

Jay did indeed call for him that day. There was insistent pounding on Nick’s front door that had him rolling out of bed, pulling his house coat over his sleepwear and going to answer. “An invitation,” Gatsby’s chauffeur held out an invitation, the day's date and a time set a few hours past noon written on it. “To lunch.” He held it out.

Nick took it. “Thank you.”

*

Someone was pounding on his door quite insistently. Ivan groaned and rolled over to the other side of his bed. “Vanya!” He groaned into his pillow. “I know you’re in there! Hurry up and get dressed! We were supposed to be leaving already!”

He sighed and got out of bed. He showered, he had time, they were always early. And dressed. When he stepped out into his living room Petya was lounging on his couch. “Nope.” he said. “Not good enough.”  
  
“What isn’t good enough?”

“Go get one of your ties,” Piotr said. “And comb your hair.”

“My hair is fine.”  
  
“Your hair looks like it hasn't been brushed in weeks. Go comb it.”

Ivan groaned and stomped back into his bathroom, tying a tie and running a comb hair through his hair. 

Back in his living room Piotr was reading a newspaper. His newspaper. 

“You have cat hair on your jacket.” Piotr flipped off, still reading the paper. “And stop going through my mail.”

“No.” Piotr’s eyes flicked up to look over the top of the paper. “Good enough,” he grumbled. “Let’s go.”

Once in the car Ivan discreetly loosened his tie. By the time they got there it was hanging loose around his neck. 

“My god,” Piotr said, once they were out of the now parked car. “It’s just a tie.” He fixed the tie, tying it tighter then Ivan had it. 

“Choking,” Ivan said, putting his hands around Piotr’s. “Guys help.” He hung his head down to look at Vladimir and Sergei. “Help me.” He went limp and Piotr cursed, fumbling for him. 

“Stand up or I'm going to drop you,” Piotr threatened.

“Dying.”  
  
Piotr dropped him. 

“Rude!”

*

Nick and Jay had spent the day driving to New York. Jay had shown Nick to a restaurant he liked once he found out Nick hadn’t yet been. They ran into one of Jay’s associates there. A man named Klaus. He bought them all a bottle of wine to share. The three shared stories of the time in the military. 

“So tomorrow,” Jay said once he and Nick were alone in Jay’s mansion, “will Daisy be by?”  
  
“Yes. She’ll be able to come at four.”  
  
“Excellent.”

“I will need to get my grass cut.”

“That’s fine.” Jay smiled that blinding smile. “I’ll see you and Daisy tomorrow. I’ll be looking forward to it.”  
  
“As well I. Goodbye Jay.”  
  
“Goodbye Old Sport.” 

*

That night the famed Karen Page and Matthew Murdock would be attending Jay Gatsby’s party one more time before leaving for Hell’s Kitchen. Vanya was there again, up on the balcony, watching the dancers. 

Nick walked up behind him and stood beside him by the railing. He brushed their elbows together. “Hi.”  
  
“Hi.” Vanya sipped his drink, another cherry one Nick always found too sweet.

“Why are you always up here?” Nick asked.

“I don’t like crowds. “They’re loud. People notice my leg, ask questions. And I can’t see or hear anything, it’s always too loud. And I like having a vantage point. Comes with being a…”  
  
“Sniper?”

“Yeah.” Vanya sagged into the railing and traced the rim of his glass with a finger. 

“I know a place we can get quiet. Have you seen the library?”  
  


“No.”

Nick offered Vanya his arm and he linked their arms together. “I’ll take you there then.”

The library was empty save for old Owl-Eyes.

“Who’s that?” Vanya whispered in Nick’s ear.

“Owl Eyes,” Nick whispered back. “He doesn’t believe Jay exists.

“Ridiculous,” Vanya scoffed. “What backing is there to that?”  
  
“Well no one seems to know what Jay is actually like.” They sat at one of the tables across from each other. “I don’t know a lot about you.”  
  
“And maybe I’ll tell you.” Vanya smiled and his fangs- _teeth_ Nick reminded himself- gleamed. It was gentler now, though, somehow. Ivan finished the rest of his drink and tipped the cherry to his mouth, stem and all. He spit the pit into the glass and set it on the table. Vanya looked at him as he chewed. His eyes were dark, pupils blown. Nick shivered. Vanya spit the stem into the glass. There was a knot tied in the middle of it. Nick looked up and met Vanya’s eyes. He shivered again. 

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

Vanya nodded and he grinned. An actual happy grin. “Yeah. I know a place.”

The place turned out to be one of the clubs Vanya owned. “Welcome to Gorizont,” he said. He took Nick by the hand and Nick could feel heat pulsing where their skin touched. 

“Don’t these places get raided by police?” Nick murmured in Vanya’s ear.

“Unfortunately, yes.” The man sitting outside the door pulled the door open for them. The place was shaped like a rectangle, at the opposite wall there was a counter stretching almost wall to wall. There were stools in front of it, on them.people were sitting, chatting, drinking. Freely being.

Mounted on the wall behind the counter there was a sign of the place's name, lit a pale golden yellow colour.

There was a second level, above the counter and that half of the room. The wall was open, looking out on the first floor. There were fairy lights strung on the railing and on the walls. The walls, the carpet, the ceiling, all were dark enough to look black.

There were two stages, one on either side. On the left, there were people dancing. On the right a live band playing a jazz piece Nick hadn’t heard before. Around them people were freely... Together.  
  
Vanya dipped his head and his lips brushed Nick’s ear as he whispered, “Is it too much? We can leave…” 

“No. It’s fine.”

“Good, good,” Vanya said a little breathlessly. “Drinks?”

They wove inbetween tables and sat on stools in front of the counter. “What are you two having?” the bartender asked. 

Vanya nudged Nick with his elbow. “You pick.”  
  
“Champagne,” Nick said and the bartender poured two flutes of it.

“You say ‘nostrovia’, right?”

Vanya snorted. “Only with Americans. Instead we drink to health and wellness.”  
  
“Oh. To that then.”

“Yes.” Vanya grinned. “To _that_.” 

*

They were kissing, now empty glasses sitting beside them on the counter. Vanya grumbled something and kissed him deeper. He yanked away from Nick and whipped around. “ _What_?”

Nick opened his eyes and blinked. And then almost tipped back in his chair. “Oh! Jordan!”

“Hey Nick. I need to talk to this one.” She jabbed his shoulder with a manicured nail. Vanya winced. The girl behind her watched, looking amused. “We’ll be just a minute.” Jordan grabbed Vanya’s tie and pulled him off the stool and away from Nick and the girl.

The girl took Vanya’s stool. “Hi,” she said. She stuck out a hand. Nick grabbed it and they shook. “I’m Mary Shelstein.”  
  
“Hello. Nick Carraway.”

“I see you’ve met Ivan. He’s quite taken with you. I don’t remember the last time I saw him with someone.” They both looked over to Vanya and Jordan. Jordan had him by his tie and was whispering fiercely into his ear. 

She released him and he walked over, looking flustered. “Hello Mary,” he said. 

Mary got off her stool and he sat. “Hello. We’re going to take off now. Have a good night you two.” She winked and followed Jordan out the door. Vanya reached over the counter and the bartender handed him a shot glass with clear liquid, probably vodka. He threw it back and set the glass on the table. 

“So,” Vanya said.

Nick reached for him, cupped his jaw and traced a finger along his stubble. Vanya let out a stuttering breath. “So you know Jordan.”  
  
“Mmm. Yeah. For a few years now.” Nick grabbed Vanya’s tie and he tipped his head down. Nick tipped his head up and pressed his lips to Vanya’s for kissing him deeply. 

Vanya kissed back. Nick could hear a quiet sound escape his lips. 

“So you found one you like then.”

Vanya jerked up and glared at the bartender. “Shut up Dmitry.”  
  
“You’re blushing.”  
  
“It’s the alcohol.” 

“No it isn’t.” Dmitry set down the glass he was cleaning. “What’s your name?” He asked Nick.

“Nyet,” Vanya said. He said something to Dmitry in Russian and took Nick by the hand. “Let’s find somewhere a bit more quiet.”

He was led up the staircase to the second floor. The floor was open to. The stairs were also lit by brightly coloured strings of fairy lights. The upstairs carpet was a dark blood red and the back wall was painted midnight blue. Nick could see the colour cleary now, with the white lights hung by hooks in the crook between wall and ceiling. 

They sat on one of the couches, it was black with purple cushions like the rest of the furniture, pushed against the wall. There were other couples too, chatting, sipping on drinks, watching the dancers, listening to the band. Kissing without fear of being seen. 

Nick pressed Vanya against the wall and kissed him. He loosened his tie until the knot was almost pulled free. He kept his grip on the tie and pulled Vanya down to kiss him again. 

* 

Dmitry gave the two a knowing look as they left Gorizont. Vanya flipped him off.

*

They stopped by Ivan’s place. He hadn’t brought an overnight bag with him. He didn’t expect to need it and he needed it now.

Nick’s house was cozy. Ivan couldn’t think of any other word to describe it. It was in between two large sprawling mansions. One, Gatsby’s. Ivan didn’t know who the other belonged to. He hadn’t met the owners. It was a repurposed gardener's cottage, Nick had said on the drive over.

They both showered and Ivan changed into his more comfortable clothes. They were both sitting on Nick’s bed, backs to the headboard. 

Nick kept running his hand through Ivan’s hair. “I haven’t seen your hair this flat before.”  
  
“I know. Your house is nice.”

“Thanks.” Nick turned his head and kissed Ivan on the neck. His skin was warm on his lips. The radio was playing quietly, Nick had set it on his bedside. He reached over and turned the switch so the lamp dimmed. He laid back against the pillows. His entire body seemed to be thrumming with nervous energy. 

Nick kissed Ivan’s neck again. Ivan tilted his head and Nick made a pleased sound before kissing him again.

*

“Goodnight,” Ivan murmured. Nick was running his hands lightly over his now bare back. His shirt had been hung on a hanger on the knob of Nick’s closet door. His pants were folded over the back of a chair.  
  


“Are you sure you don’t want sleep clothes?” 

“I don’t get cold.”

“If you’re sure.”  
  
“I am.” Ivan yawned.  
  
“You can sleep,” Nick said to him in a hushed voice. “I won’t mind. I do have reading to do.” 

“Okay,” Ivan said, mostly into the pillow. 

Nick kissed the top of his head before pulling his book off of his bedside table. He found his place in the book and began to read.


	8. Spring Green and Sky Blue (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so something in this can be read as an innuendo. i didn't plan on it when i was writing it. just know there's two ways it can be interpreted. 
> 
> there's a playlist! I forgot to link it when I posted the first chapter so here it is. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6LQ2pvI5A20aU0nJWBofrZ?si=sOhfYKNYRgODB6CZqzxYUg

Ivan woke late that night to his leg throbbing. He breathed out and sat up. Beside him Nick was asleep on his side, his back facing Ivan, breathing slowly. His sides and chest rose and fell in time with his breaths. His hair, always tidy, was falling in front of his face. He had fallen asleep reading, the book lay open, his hand in between the pages, still holding it.

Ivan got out of bed and limped over to Nick’s side. He gently pulled the book from his grasp, Nick made a small noise in his sleep. Ivan marked Nick’s spot with a scrap of paper he found on top of the bedside table. He set the book down and turned the light off. 

Outside was dark. For once Jay Gatsby’s house wasn’t lit like it was the fair. The crickets were chirp, able to be heard through the silence of the night. Ivan moved back to his side of the bed. He sat, and breathed out. He pulled his bag closer with his foot, dug out his nightshirt, and pulled it on over his head. He eased his leg out of the prosthetic and set it aside. From his bag, he took balm and massaged it into his leg. The pain eased and Ivan let out a breath. He looked over his shoulder. Nick was still asleep, oblivious. 

_Good_.

The balm was capped and tossed back into his bag. He laid back down, chest to Nick’s back. He pulled the bed covers above each of their shoulders. He put an arm around Nick’s middle and held his breath. 

When Nick didn’t stir he let it go and closed his eyes.

*

Outside was loud. Unusually so for the time of day. Nick stirred and Vanya made a sound in his sleep. Nick turned his head. Sometime in the night while Nick was asleep Vanya had put on a shirt. It was a button-up, light, flowing. 

His book was on the bedside table and the lamp had been turned off. Nick sat up in bed and the bedcovers pooled around his waist. Vanya made another snuffling sound.

The curtains were drawn over the windows. They were thin, still letting in the morning light even though they were closed. Nick stood and pulled his housecoat on over his sleep clothes. He drew upon the curtains and blinked. People were cutting his grass. He blinked again. He didn't remember calling anyone to come. Out in the front, he could see the back of Jay talking animatedly to someone. A van pulled up in front of his house. 

Nick hurried to dress and got outside to see people unloading large white bouquets. "Jay! What's all… this." He looked around, bewildered. 

Jay grinned widely. "I got your grass cut!"

"Yes. Yes. I- I can see that." He looked around. The people were now unloading an arch decorated in white flowers and green vines and leaves. They came up to the door and Nick jumped out of their way.

"The paper said the rain should stop at four," Jay said. He looked up and drops of water splashed onto his face. 

"I didn't read it." Nick looked up and squinted his eyes after a drop of rain splashed down. He blinked and went back to his porch. "Well," he said, "come in. Come in."

Nick opened the door and waved Jay inside. He followed Jay inside and the door behind them.

Inside the bouquets were set up in clusters in Nick's living room. "Nick?" Vanya's voice was unsure, coming from Nick's bedroom. 

"Why, is that old Ivan Yerkhov?"

"I'll be just a minute," Nick said to Jay. 

He wove his way through the flowers and into his bedroom. "Vanya?" Vanya was sitting on the edge of the bed, his brow was furrowed. The prothetic was sitting on the floor beside him. "Are you alright?"

"My leg…" Vanya looked up, met Nick's eyes. He looked back down and squeezes his eyes shut and hunched his shoulders. "I'm fine," he said, voice tight, pained. Nick rested his hand on his back. "What's Jay doing here?" 

"Daisy's coming over at four."

"You're cousin?"

"Yeah."

"What time?"

Nick frowned. He had already said. "Four."

Ivan clenched his teeth and leaned forward. 

"Are you okay?" Nick asked.

"Da," Vanya said through gritted teeth.

They sat there in silence for a few moments, Nick's hand still on Vanya's back.

"Are you coming Old Sport? We have to get the house ready!"

Nick twisted around and looked out the doorway. He couldn't see Jay through the white flowers. "I'll be out in a minute Jay!" To Vanya, he said, "Are you sure you're alright?" 

" _Yes_."

Nick rubbed a circle on Vanya's back. "Do you need help?"

"I'll be out in a minute."

"That's not what I asked."

Vanya put his face in his hands. "Please." 

"If you're sure." Nick stood, looked to make sure Jay wouldn't see, and kissed his head.

"I am," he said quietly. 

"So she's coming at four?" Jay asked once Nick managed to get past the flowers again.

"Yes."

"Yes yes." Jay twisted his hat in his hands and looked around the room. "The rain should stop by then." 

"Yeah. Are you hungry?"

"No. No. I ate before coming."

Nick nodded and swayed slightly. 

There was a muffled curse and both Nick and Jay both looked over. Vanya had emerged from the bedroom, now wearing flowing black silk pants. He was holding one of the larger pots. 

He set it down awkwardly and stood. "I think I'm going to be going home now. I may have overdone it last night." His hair was looking rumpled unruly and undone. 

"Drink too much Old Sport?" Jay asked. He clapped Vanya on the back. 

"You could say that," Vanya murmured. He looked up, met Nick's eyes. "I'll see you later." He left.

*

Ivan unlocked the door to his apartment, stepped inside and locked it again. He turned. And saw Dmitry and Aslan sitting at _his_ table drinking _his_ alcohol.

"Good morning!" Dmitry called in a sing-song voice. "Did you have fun last night?"

"What was fun?" Aslan asked.

"Nothing," Ivan snapped. "Why are you people in my house? I've got a meeting to get to."

"With?" Aslan asked. He raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee.

"You aren't my babysitter Aslan. I don't have to tell you."

“ _Please_?”

“Why are you two in my house.”

“You have the good alcohol,” Dmitry said. He held up a bottle of vodka and shook it.

“I have _work_.”

“Work can wait,” Dmitry said. 

“Fine.” Ivan sat on a stool and kicked his feet against the counter. “One.”

One turned into many and Ivan was late. He pulled his gloves on with his teeth and backed out the door. he didn't bother telling Aslan or Dmitry to leave they wouldn't listen anyway.

Wade was not pleased. He was on the rooftop, wind billowing his coat. “Wade,” Ivan said, a plea in his voice, “I am _so_ sorry.”

A muscle in Wade’s jaw twitched. “We’re being paid a hundred-twenty tonight so you very well better be. You’re late.”

Ivan’s mouth dropped open. “A _hundred-twenty_.”

“Sixty each. You would have known that if you had _been here_.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Dmitry and Aslan broke into my house. And then my alcohol.”

Wade scowled. “You’re making excuses. Invest in better locks.”

“I’m sorry Wade.”

“When I said I wanted to be partners I meant we’d be _partners_. That means you fucking show up on time.” Wade levelled a gun at his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Understand?” 

Ivan met Wade’s gaze, unwavering and steady. He dipped his head. “Understood.”

“Good.” And under his breath, voice a growl, “You owe me.”

“Owe you what? I’m not spending the night with you again.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Wade said. "Our target is there.” Wade pointed to a building across the street. “Anyone in that building, take them out.” Wade looked Ivan up and down. “Where’s your vest?”

“I don’t need it,” Ivan had lied. he had forgotten it in his haste.

Wade narrowed his eyes then shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

Ivan nodded. 

“You missed the meeting,” Wade said. He set up his scope, aimed it at the building. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” There was a pause. “Who are they?”

“The Italians.”

“Which ones Wade. The Five? Genovese? Luciano?” 

“The Colombera Family.”

Every muscle in Ivan’s body tightened. “They’re still around?” he asked, voice strained.

“Yes, they are. I know your history with them. And because I’m so generous-”

Ivan snorted.

“-I’ll let you take the first shot.”

“Thank you for your generosity, oh great one,” Ivan said, rolling his eyes. “What time are they supposed to get there?” Ivan settled against the edge of the roof, making himself comfortable. He set the gun on the low wall going around the edge of the roof and adjusted the scope.

Wade pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch. “Now.”

Ivan looked through his scope, saw the man; large and brutish, draped in the gold of his victims and imported fabrics. The man closed his door behind him and went to lounge on his sofa. Ivan breathed out and the wind stole the breath from his lungs. He pulled the trigger.

Something slammed into him, almost knocking him off the roof. He would have fallen if not for Wade grabbing his collar and hauling him to his feet.

“What the hell?” Ivan looked around. There was a growl coming from his left, from something tucked behind the roof access door. He saw white teeth- _fangs_ \- gleaming and a flash of red. He was thrown on his back and his head smacked against the roof. Black and white spots swam in his vision and he groaned. 

A boot pressed into his throat. Ivan let out a choked sound and grasped for the ankle. “Stay down,” a voice snarled. 

“Ooh!” Wade sounded absolutely delighted. Fucking maniac. “Matty!”

“You stay down too,” the voice said, still snarling. There was a thwacking sound and an ‘oof’ from Wade. 

The spots vanished from his eyes and Ivan blinked rapidly. He sat up and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Whatever had him was not human. The aching in his body was testament to that. And really he knew few creatures that gave off heat anywhere near the blistering pain he was feeling coming from his right. 

He turned his head slowly and the world spun around him. He gagged and stuck out a hand, leaning on his arm. Ivan panted heavily and felt the heat scorch his lungs. “Ooh! Ivan! You didn’t tell me you were one of the whatever-they’re-called’s.”

Ivan moaned in lieu of responding. He let his chin drop to his chest.

“Hmm.” A figure clad in red squatted down and lifted his chin with their thumb. “Hmm.” They moved their hand and his chin dropped to his chest. “Witch,” the voice whispered.

Ivan lashed out and Matt danced back, keeping just out of reach. Matt snarled, the sound emitting deep within his chest. Inhuman. Dangerous. Ivan bared his teeth and tried not to breathe in the stench of sulfur and ozone. 

“Boys! Boys! Can’t we all play nice?”

“Not now Wade,” Matt snarled.

Ivan stood and clambered away from Matt. Matt suddenly stood tall and straight. He cocked his head. Turned his body in the direction of the Colombera's building. Said, “Well, that’s my cue.” And vanished. Ivan looked down over the roof and saw him running into an alleyway. A sound erupted. Ivan realized too late what it was.

There was a shout. 

An arm reaching for him. 

The world arced above him, the sky, blue, a great dome.

A warmth that turned into blazing pain that held him howling.

Wetness spreading across him.

Muffled shouting, ragged breaths.

Curses falling from numb lips. Curses he realized were coming from his mouth. 

He really regretted forgetting his armour. 

*

“She’s not coming.”

“It’s only two minutes until four. Sit down.” Gatsby sat down, miserably, and there was the sound of a motor turning into Nicks’ drive. The two jumped up and went out into the yard. Under the lilac trees, a large open car was coming up the drive. It stopped. Daisy, wearing her three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at Nick with an ecstatic smile. “Is this absolutely where you live, Nicky?” A damp streak of hair lay across her cheek. Drops of water glistened on her hand as Nick took it to help her from the car. “Are you in love with me? Why did I have to come alone?” 

“That’s the secret of Castle Rackrent,” Nick said. “Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour.” 

Daisy leaned down into the car. “Come back in an hour, Ferdie.” Then, said to Nick in a whisper, “His name is Ferdie.” 

They went into the house. Nick batted a flowered stem out of the way and held it there until Daisy passed. The living room was deserted, Jay no longer sitting alongside his numerous flowers. “Well, that’s funny!” 

“What’s funny?”

Daisy turned her head as there was a light knock at the front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale, with his hands plunged in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water staring tragically into Nick’s eyes. With his hands still in his coat pockets, he walked by him into the hall, turning sharply, and disappearing into the living room. 

Aware of his heart beating loudly in his chest Nick pulled the door closed against the downpour. For half a minute there wasn’t a sound. Then from the living room, a choking murmur and part of a laugh followed by Daisy’s voice, sounding almost hysterical, “I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.” 

There was a pause. Having been still lingering in the hall Nick went into the room. Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was leaning against the mantelpiece. His head leaned back so that it rested against the face of a mantelpiece clock and from this position his distraught eyes stared down at Daisy, looking paralyzed, sitting stiff and graceful on the edge of a chair. “We’ve met before,” muttered Gatsby. He glanced momentarily at Nick and his lips parted with an attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head. He caught it with trembling fingers and set it back in place. Then he sat down rigidly, elbow on the arm of the sofa and chin in hand. “I’m sorry about the clock,” he said. 

Nick could feel his face burning. Unable to muster a single thought out of the thousands running through his head Nick said, “It’s an old clock.”

“We haven’t met for many years,” said Daisy, voice matter-of-fact and straightforward. 

“Five years next November,” Gatsby murmured. 

A strained silence passed. Nick counted the minutes by the ticking of the clock's hands. “Why don’t we make tea?” Nick asked suddenly, voice raised several octaves. 

The three went into the kitchen, and made their tea and cakes, movements stiff and robot, done only by memory. Finn brought the food and drinks out into the sitting room and set it on the low table that sat in front of the sofa.

Amid the confusion of cups and cakes, a decorum established itself. Gatsby slunk into a shadowed corner of the room while Daisy and Nick talked, looking conscientiously from one to the other with tense unhappy eyes. 

However, as calmness wasn’t an end in itself, Nick made an excuse at the first opportunity he found and got to his feet. 

“Where are you going?” demanded Gatsby, voice alarmed and high though his body didn’t betray his turmoil. 

“I’ll be back.” Nick put on his hat and made for the door. 

Jay leapt for the door and planted himself between Nick and the door. “I’ve got to speak to you about something before you go.” He gestured wildly at the kitchen and followed Jay’s erratic quickened footsteps into the kitchen. 

Jay closed the door behind them and whispered, “Oh, God!” in a miserable way. 

“What’s the matter?”

“This is a terrible mistake,” Jay said, shaking his head from side to side. He stared down at the groaned, eyes wet and mournful looking. Miserable. “A terrible, terrible mistake.” 

“You’re just embarrassed, that’s all,” and as if an afterthought Nick added,‘“Daisy’s embarrassed too.”

“She’s embarrassed?”

“Just as much as you are.” 

“Don’t talk so loud,” Jay said, sounding petulant.

“You’re acting like a little boy,” Nick said incredulously, impatience roiling. “Not only that but you’re rude. Daisy’s sitting in there all alone.” 

Jay raised his hand, looked at Nick with unforgettable reproach and let his hand drop. He hung his head and sighed. He opened the door cautiously and went back into the sitting room. 

Nick walked out the back way, just as Gatsby had, and made for the huge black knotted tree whose leaves made a tent against the rain. Once more it was pouring and water pooled on the lawn, shorn by Gatsby’s gardener, forming swamp and marsh. There was nothing to look at from under the tree except Gatsby’s enormous house, so Nick stared at it.

After half an hour the sun shone through the clouds and the grocer’s automobile rounded Gatsby’s drive with the material for his servants’ dinner. A maid began opening the upper windows of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and, leaning from a large central bay, spat into the garden.

While the rain continued it had seemed like the murmur of their voices, rising and swelling a little with their gusts of emotion. But in the absence of rain Nick felt that silence had fallen within the house too. Nick went in, making every possible noise in the kitchen but they didn’t hear a sound. 

They were sitting at either end of the couch looking at each other as if some question had been asked or was in the air, and every vestige of embarrassment was gone. Daisy’s face was smeared with tears and when Nick came in she jumped up and began wiping the tears away with her handkerchief. There was a profound change in Gatsby’s demeanour. He literally glowed. Without a word or gesture from him, a new well-being radiated from him and filled the room.

“Oh, hello, old sport. It’s stopped raining, hasn’t it?" He turned to Daisy, grinning madly, teeth gleaming, eyes shining like the sun sparkling on a pool. “What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining.” 

“I’m glad, Jay,” Daisy’s voice full of aching longing and joy. 

“I want you and Nick to come over to my house,” Jay said, “I’d like to show you around.”

“Are you sure you want me to come?” Nick asked. 

“Absolutely, old sport,” Jay said. 

Daisy went upstairs to wash her face while Gatsby and Nick went out to wait on the lawn. 

Jay cast a look at Nick’s house before looking at him. "My house looks well, doesn’t it? See how the whole front of it catches the light." 

"Yes," Nick said. "It's splendid Jay." 

"Yes." Jay's eyes roamed over it, the arched door and square tower. "It took me just three years to earn the money that bought it." 

"I thought you inherited your money." 

"I did, old sport," Jay said quickly, "but I lost most of it in the big panic."

"What business are you in?" Nick asked.

"That's my affair," Jay said dumbly. Then, "Oh, I’ve been in several things. I was in the drug business-" that Nick knew "-and then I was in the oil business. But I’m not in either one now." He looked at Nick. "Do you mean you’ve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?"

Before Nick could answer, Daisy came out of the house, the two rows of brass buttons on her dress glowing in the sunlight. “That huge place?” she cried pointing. 

“Do you like it?” Jay asked, nervous. 

“I love it, but I don’t see how you live there all alone.” 

“I always keep it full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things, celebrities.” Instead of taking the shortcut along the Sound they went down and entered through the big postern. Driving by the gardens, the sparkling odour of jonquils, the spotted plum blossoms, and the red hawthorns and kiss-me-at-the-gates. 

It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no bright dresses, flowing in and out the door. Hearing no sound but birds in the trees. And inside as they wandered through music rooms and salons there seemed to be an absence, the feeling as though there were people just out of each, guests concealed behind every couch, under every table. As Gatsby closed the door of the library Nick could have sworn he heard old Owl-Eyes break into ghostly laughter. They went upstairs, through bedrooms swathed in rose and lavender silk, filled with vibrant flowers, through dressing rooms and bathrooms with sunken baths. Walking into one chamber where a dishevelled man in pajamas was doing stretches on the floor. It was Mr. Klipspringer, the border.

Finally, they came to Gatsby’s own wing; a bedroom, a bath, and a study. They sat down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse Jay took from a cupboard in the wall. He hadn’t once stopped looking at Daisy. Sometimes Jay stared at his possessions in a dazed way as though in her presence none of it was any longer real. Once he nearly toppled down a flight of stairs. 

Jay’s room was the simplest in the house, except where the dresser was garnished in gold. Daisy took a brush with delight and brushed it through her hair. Jay sat. Covered his face with his hand. And let out a laugh. “It’s the funniest thing, old sport-”

“Mr. Gatsby?” a man's voice, a servant, interrupted him.

Jay whipped around wildly. “Yes? What is it?”

“A ‘Pakhan Anatoly Ranskahov’ is calling. He said it can’t wait.”

Gatsby’s mouth dropped open. “I am terribly sorry. This will take but a minute.”

The man looked at Nick. “Mr. Carraway, you best come as well.”

Nick followed them after a moment, leaving Daisy sitting in the study. Anatoly was standing in the front foyer of the house, next to the grand staircase. 

“Yes?” Jay asked nervously, eyes shifting.

Anatoly looked over hearing Nick’s footsteps and met his gaze. His eyes were cold and full of cool fire. He pointed his chin at Nick. “You. You weren’t at your house.”

“You want Nick?” Jay asked, sounding astonished.

“Yes.” Anatoly turned on his heels and squared his shoulders. “Follow me,” he said.

Nick hurried after him. Anatoly gestured for the passenger door. Nick opened it and got in while Anatoly went to the driver's side. 

“He was asking for you,” Anatoly said. Nick turned his head and looked at him. Tattoos covered his hands and fingers. Nick could see one peeking out from his collar and he had tattoos creeping up his neck, coming from his back and shoulders. 

“Vanya?”

“Yes.”

“Did something happen?” Nick asked, concern creeping into his voice. 

Anatoly let out a humming sound. He turned down the road.

“I know what he does,” Nick said, desperate. “Please. What happened to him?”

Anatoly frowned. Scowled. Turned down the road to the Valley of Ash. He was silent, the minutes stretching on, and Nick grew uneasy. They turned on the bridge and Anatoly spoke; “I’ll tell you when we get to the hospital.”

 _Hospital_. Nick’s stomach clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut. _Hospital_.

*

“I’ve got a man in England who buys me clothes.” Jay grinned broadly at Daisy and opened his cabinets. “He sends over a selection of things at the beginning of each season, spring and fall. Summer and Winter.” He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them. One by one. On the bed, where Daisy sat, legs curled underneath her. Shirts; made of linen, silk, flannel. They lost their folds where they fell, scattered in multi-coloured heaps on the bed and floor. 

While Daisy ran her hand over a pale-pink silk he brought out more and the mounds grew higher around her. Many patterned shirts; stripes, scrolls. Plaids of coral and spring-green, of lavender and orange and a blue the colour of a clear sky. 

Suddenly, with a choked off sob, Daisy bent her head down, holding her face in her hands, shirts in a scattered mess around her. She began to cry, great heaving sobs escaping her mouth.

“Daisy! Daisy, are you alright?” Jay crawled onto the bed beside her and knelt on his knees. “Daisy…” He gently cupped her jaw and lifted her chin. She looked down, not meeting his eyes, tears pooling in her hazel ones. JAy brushed her tears away with his other hand. 

“They’re such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed. “It makes me sad because- because-.”

“Daisy,” Jay breathed. He cupped her jaw with his other hand, held his breath.

Daisy lifted her eyes, meeting his. “Jay.” 

They leaned in.


	9. Feathers (part two)

Anatoly led Nick through the halls, up a floor, into a private room. 

Vanya was lying prone on the bed, looking white as death, his chest stirring slightly, hands clenched and knuckles white. Nick just stared at him. 

A blond man sat on the chair beside him, wiping Ivan's forehead and bare chest with a damp cloth. He looked rumpled, his hair was undone and fell in clumps over his eyes. 

Nick's eyes moved down Vanya's body. He automatically reached out and grasped at Anatoly's sleeve. There was gauze wrapped around his abdomen. There was blood soaking through. "What  _ happened _ ?"

"He was shot," the blond man said wearily. 

"Anatoly," a large man said - Nick hadn't noticed him before - before stalking up to him. His hair was cropped short and he had tattoos on the backs of both hands and one on his collar bone Nick could just see. "Did you know about him?" 

"What are you talking about Mikhail?"

The whites of the blond man's eyes were visible then, the iris and pupil of his eyes shrinking. He set the cloth and bowl of water then and grasped the edge of the bed with one hand and the arm of the chair with the other.

"You don't know? The tattoo."

The muscles in Anatoly's body stiffened, his jaw clenched. He met Mikhail's gaze with his one steely one. Nick shuddered. "What. Are. You. Talking about."

"Don't be a fool," another man said. "We both saw it. Piotr did. Vladimir did."

"Where  _ is _ my brother?"

"Left. And who is  _ this _ ?"

Anatoly took a step closer to the two men. A step in front of Nick. Nick swallowed and could feel his shoulders go up to his ears. Hostility crackled in the air. He cast an uneasy look at Vanya and the man who sat beside him. A man he figured must be his brother.

"So we're asking you," the man said, taking a step closer to Anatoly, "did you know? Or did it happen in that Russian prison?"

"What does it matter?" Anatoly asked, voice a growl. He looked at Mikhail, then at the other man. "Mikhail. Aslan. I am asking you, what. Does. It.  _ Matter _ ?"

The man, Aslan, said something and everything escalated from there. Piotr shot out of his chair and dragged Nick out of the way to stand against the wall. Piotr's grip was iron on Nick's wrist, squeezing the tendons against bone. Piotr yelled something and pulled the door open. He gestures wildly and yelled something again. 

Anatoly took the two men by their collars and dragged them out in the hall. Piotr closed it against the rising voices but Nick still hear them clearly even though he did not understand the Russian words.

Piotr ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He went around the bed and collapsed back in the chair, hand still clasped in his hair. He covered his mouth with his other hand and let out a ragged sound. His eyes squeezed shut and Nick realized the sound was a sob.

"Is he going to be okay?" Nick asked after a moment, voice hesitant. 

"The gunshot wound isn't what I'm worried about." Piotr sighed, long and ragged, and let his hand fall from his hair. He put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. "I do know about you two," he said, voice soft, almost mumbling.

Nick flushed. "You- you do? Who else?"

"Tolik, Volodya, Dima. Wade. They, luckily, do not care. The others…" Piotr trailed off and wince. "We saw his tattoo when they brought him in. We all did. Mikhail, Aslan, Sergei. The news will spread. The fallout… will not be good."

Nick swallowed. "What's going to happen? Surely you must know."

"In our world tattoos determine rank and tell a person's life story. There are… forced tattoos. They… are not good to have. Definitely not. Ivan is- was… powerful. He knows a lot of people and has a lot of pull in alcohol manufacturing and distributing. If this gets out it could tear down everything we've built here. The Ranskahov family will be ruined."

"The… crime family?"

Piotr nodded. "They, luckily, are not stupid enough to let this get out. Within the family… It will be hard for him." Piotr looked at Vanya, lying on his bed. He shook his head suddenly and held out his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. Petya Yerkhov."

Nick took his hand and shook it. "It's quite alright. We were both occupied. Nick. Nick Caraway." Nick looked at Vanya and took his hand. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed over the tattoo of the birds. "He will be okay though. Right?"

"My Vanya has always healed quickly. I do suspect-" Piotr cut himself off, closing his mouth and shaking his head. "Nevermind. He can tell you himself. I do not know. Not really."

Nick took Vanya's hand in his own and stroked his thumb across Vanya's birds. "What's going to happen?"

"Damage control. Then, hopefully nothing and it will all blow over."

"The tattoo… What does it mean?"

Piotr sighed. "Simply put it means Vanya likes men. It is… not a good thing to be in our line of work."

On the bed Vanya stirred. He whimpered. His hand tightened around Nick’s. “Nick?” he asked, voice hoarse and whimpering. 

Nick squeezed his hand. “I’m here. You’re alright.”

“It hurts.” Vanya’s jaw clenched and his hand tightened vice-like around Nick’s hand. “It  _ hurts _ .”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Nick brought Vanya’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. 

“I’ll get the nurse,” Petya murmured. He stood, squeezed Vanya’s other hand, and left the room. Out in the hall swirls of noise came into the room; shoes walking, heels clicking on the floor, peoples voices, muttered and soft. The door closed behind him with a gentle click and shut out every other sound. Only the sound of Vanya’s laboured pained breaths remained. Nick was silent, watching him. 

Nick brushed his hand across the tattoos on Vanya’s chest. The thieves cross, an ornamented celtic cross. The executioner, hood over the face, arms raised above the head, ax in hand. The green carnation, the only tattoo that had any colour other than the blue black of the others. He brushed his thumb over the birds. Their wings seemed to move, feathers fluttering and ruffling. Flying free. Vanya’s eyes were squeezed shut tightly, his jaw was still clenched, and his lips curled over his teeth. Nick reached out with his free hand and brushed the stray hairs out of Vanya’s face. “You’re going to be okay,” Nick whispered fiercely. Vanya squeezed Nick’s hand. 

The door opened and Nick pulled back and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He stood and retreated to a far wall. The nurse introduced herself. Murmured words in a quiet voice to Petya and Vanya, words only they heard. Vanya held out his hand and the nurse took it in a gentle grasp. She found a vein, pressed into it a needle, and injected the medicine. It took only seconds before Vanya’s face went slack and his arm went limp in her hand. 

“He should be able to sleep through the night with that. Call for one of us if there are any changes.” Petya thanked her. She nodded. She left. 

Nick and Petya took their respective spots again and took up vigil. “What’s going to happen?” Nick asked.

“I’ll talk to him. To Volodya and Anatoly. We’ll… We’ll- We’ll come up with something.” Petya went back to sponging the sweat off Vanya’s hairline. “He’ll… He probably won’t be fine. But.” Petya breathed out, blew the loose hairs out of his eyes with a gust of hot breath. “We’ll be watching out for him.” 

A fan started somewhere in the room, Nick pulled his collar away from his neck. He wiped at the sweat droplets collected on the skin at the back of his neck. “The weather’s turning,” Nick said. “It will be getting hot soon.”   
  
Petya nodded. He laid the cloth across Vanya’s forehead and brushed his hair away, they had strung back stubbornly after Nick tried to smooth them out of place. “Yeah,” Petya said, voice quiet. Unsure and afraid. 


	10. Green

“Let’s have fun!”

*   
  
Tom took Jordan and Nick in Gatsby’s yellow car. Daisy and Jay rode in Tom’s yellow one.

*   
  
“That drug store business was just a small change,” continued Tom slowly, evenly. Choosing his words carefully. “But you’ve got something on now that Walter’s afraid to tell me about.”

Nick glanced at Daisy who was staring terrified between Gatsby and Tom and at Jordan who had begun to stare up at the ceiling, expressionless, as though balancing an invisible object on her chin. Then Nick turned back to Jay and was startled at his expression. Jay, who looked like he had killed a man. For a moment his face could be described in that way before it passed, and he began to talk animatedly to Daisy, denying everything. Defending his name and actions. 

It was as if with every word Daisy was drawing further and further into herself. She sat, shoulders hunched up to her ears, slouching on the edge of the coach. Leaning her elbows on her knees. Her forgotten drink tipping dangerously close to the floor, the faintly tinted liquid sloshing to one side.

Jay’s words slowed before they stopped and he was schooling his expression into a blank cool one. 

And suddenly Daisy was on her feet, drinking spilled on the floor, dripping unnoticed on her hands, the drops staining her dress. “ _ Please _ , Tom! I can’t stand this anymore.” 

“You two start on home, Daisy,” Tom said. “In Mr. Gatsby’s car.” She looked at Tom, alarmed now, but he insisted. “Go on. He won’t annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous little flirtation is over.” 

They were gone without a word. After a moment, after they would have been gone, driven away, Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of whiskey. “Want any of this? Jordan? Nick?” 

Neither answered. Jordan stared straight ahead. Eyes blank and glazed, face distant. The faintest hint of disgust could be seen in the slight curl of her upper lip.

“Nick?” Tom asked again. 

“What?” Nick asked, feeling distant. Disconnected. It was his birthday… he realized. He clutched the windowsill, wooden and paint chipping, wood slivering, with his two hands. 

“Want any?”

“No … I just remembered that today’s my birthday.”

*

Tom left then. Jordan and Nick departed shortly after exchanging words of goodbye. Jordan, to go to Lady’s Slippers, a club, to meet a friend and then to Echinacea, an exclusive club with a waiting list anywhere from years to months depending on who you were and how much you were planning on spending. Associates got discounts, Jordan explained. Nick noticed, and made note, of how she didn’t say ‘friends’. 

Nick went to the hospital, barely remembered his way through the maze that was the hallways, and took up his spot beside Vanya’s bed.

Shortly upon his arrival Vanya woke and cracked open a tired eye. Vanya let out a breath and held his hand out. Nick took it and traced the ringer tattoos on his fingers. “How are you feeling?” Nick brought Vanya’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it chastely. “Better?” 

Vanya let out another breath. He let his eye close. He lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“It’s my birthday,” Nick said quietly. “I’m thirty now.” He let out a wet sad sounding laugh. “I have another miserable decade ahead of me I get to look forward to.”

There was a silence for a moment. Vanya squeezed his hand. Whispered in a hoarse aching voice, “Happy birthday Nick. If you don’t have plans Echinacea is open. Jordan should be there with Mary.” Vanya let out another sighing breath that now sounded pained. “I was supposed to be hosting tonight.”   
  
“Thank you Vanya,” Nick said, voice hushed, almost a whisper. “Is it yours?”

“Mmm.” Vanya was quiet, Nick had thought he had fallen asleep, but he opened an eye again and looked at Nick. “Da… Da means… It means… yes. I own it and I host there most… most…… most often.”

His eye closed and his face went slack. 

“Rest,” Nick whispered to him.

Vanya let out a quiet breath and his chest slowed.

*

Echinacea was elegant, three levels. One large stage, yellow gold lights shining down on it. Strings of lights led to the stairs going up it, outlines the stairs, and let up the edge of the wood panelling. 

The seat cushions were a luxurious dark forest green. The counter, tables, and chairs were all dark wood. The walls were a lighter colour. Lights hung down from the ceiling on golden links, yellow gold like the stage lights, curved green glass was their lampshades. The stairs leading up to the second and third floor were covered in a green carpet. The topmost two floors had a wall open to the first, looking down on the stage and a dance floor just in front of it. 

It was beautiful. 

Nick didn’t find Jordan or her Mary but found himself a spot near the stage and listened to the music and watched the dancers gathered on the dance floor.


	11. White Flowers

Days passed. Daisy snuck off to see Jay. Tom was under the assumption she was seeing Jordan and old school friends. Ivan healed, quickly to the marvel of the nurses, not so much Piotr. He still wouldn’t tell Nick why. The other mobsters glared and lingered. Wolfsheim and the young man, Parke, who worked under him returned to Chicago.

*

“Can I leave now?” Ivan begged Piotr. Much like he had everyday since he was conscious for more than a full hour.

“No,” Piotr said, still not looking up from the newspaper he was reading. “No until you can sit up _or_ walk without blacking out.”

Ivan grumbled and laid back against the pillows.

*

“Off to see Daisy again, are you?” Tom asked.

“Yes yes.” Daisy kissed Tom on the cheek, then her daughter. “I’ll see you for dinner. Goodbye darlings!” She waved then disappeared out the door.

*

Myrtle had been killed. Hit by a car. It had torn her nearly in half. George had seen it from his window. The car had been a bright banana lemon yellow. The driver was blond and a woman was his passenger. 

Tom was devastated.

George was devastated.

Nick went to her funeral and sat quietly in the back.

As it turned out Myrtle was Tom’s mistress. George knew. Not that Tom was her mister but that she had one. Tom had given her pearls. George kept turning them over in his hands, winding them over his hands, during the priest's prayers and sermon. 

White flowers were dropped down the grave as she was lowered in. Before they left everyone was to drop a handful of dirt on her casket. Once everyone was gone, George stayed. Standing, by her grave, as it was still filled with still wet soil, warm from sitting in the sun.


	12. Broken Glass

It was odd, being in Gorizont during the day. The Gorizont sign above the bar was turned off and the strings of fairy lights were turned off. Lighting up the place were bright white blaring lights up in the rafters.    
  
The chairs were up on the tables. Petya moved one and set it on the floor. He helped Vanya ease into it and pulled another one off of the table for him to sit in. Vanya heaved a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. “What’s going to happen Petya?” Vanya asked. He picked at the edge of one of the bandages wrapped around his torso.

“I don’t know. Anatoly is talking to people. He’s been busy all week. The Armenians are restless, the Italians. The Ukrainians. Everyone knows something is going on.” He put a hand on Vanya’s knee. “It’s okay. They’ll figure it out.” 

“Drinks?” Dmitry came over, holding four bottles. He passed one to Anya, Petya, and then Nick. He looked at Nick, a look passed over his face, and his brows furrowed. “Why aren’t you sitting?” Dmitry pulled down the last two chairs, sat in one, and gestured for Nick to sit at the other. Nick did. He set his drink on the table and crossed his legs at the ankle. 

They were silent, just drinking. Dmitry reached over, unscrewed the bottle cap on Nick’s bottle and pushed it over to him  expectantly . Nick raised it to his lips and drank. There was an almost cherry flavour to it. “So they know,” he said, not askingly, once his bottle was half empty and the others were beginning to drink the last of the dregs. Vanya’s sat empty, save for a few lingering bubbles, in front of him. 

“They do,” Petya said. “And  _ we  _ are going to figure it out. You, on the other hand, will keep your head down and stay out of it. As you are new to all of this-”

“Maybe not all of it,” Nick murmured into his bottle. He met Petya’s eyes, quickly looked away, tipped his head back and swallowed.

“I meant what we do for a living, not the relationships we have with other people. You need to stay out of it Nick. Stay away from here  _ and  _ Echinacea.” 

Nick’s mouth dropped open. “You know?”   
  
Petya raised an eyebrow. “When we say we have eyes everywhere we mean we have eyes  _ everywhere _ . And anyway,” he cleared his throat, “you need to stay away and until this all settles.”   
  
Nick could only nod and Vanya let out another sigh.    
  
“So I should go then.”   
  
Petya nodded.

“Out the back,” Dmitry said. He pointed at a glowing exit sign behind the counter. “Doors that way.”

Nick nodded. He set his bottle, now nearly empty, down on the table and nodded again. “Thanks for this.” 

“Take it,” Dmitry said. “I didn’t get it for you to waste it.”

Nick nodded again. He grabbed the bottle by its neck and left. Stepping out into an alley in broad daylight. He straightened his jacket and tossed the bottle into the trash after draining the last of the beer from it. He picked his way over trash, out onto the sidewalk. He straightened his hat and walked down the sidewalk as if he hadn’t just climbed over bags of trash and piles of broken glass. 

*

Daisy was distraught. Tears flowed over her cheeks, tracing the path of already dried tracks. “We killed her Jay,” she sobbed.

Jay cupped her jaw and held her close. “No,” he said softly, gently. “No, Daisy… She. She. She ran out in front of us. See? She. She was… She was confused. That must be it. She was confused and ran out into traffic. We didn’t kill her.”

Daisy sobbed and wrapped her arms tightly around Jay’s middle. “But we did Jay. We killed her.”


	13. Broken Pearls

“We’ll find the man who did this,” Tom said gravelly. He squeezed George’s shoulder.

George ceased in his sobbing and looked up at Tom. “We will?” he asked, voice hoarse and rough.

“We will.” 

Tom left, leaving George crying over Myrtle's pearls. The pearls he had given her. He sighed heavily and closed the door behind him. He looked back behind his shoulder. He took his hand off the doorknob and left.

*

“Dmitry.”

“Yes?” 

“I need a favour. I’ll pay you if I have to.”

Dmitry looked around, shooed the last of their workers out the door. “Well?” he asked once the door closed. “What is it?”

Ivan sighed heavily and leaned against the counter. “You know the tattoo. You saw it.” He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. “I need it changed. Modified enough that the others could believe if they saw it wrong.”

Dmitry clasped his hands and leaned his forearms on the bar. “Why don’t I just remove it?”

“That will only just affirm what they know. Please. It has to be that.”

“Fine.” Then, “You don’t need to pay me.”

The tension left Ivan’s shoulders and he let out a breath. “Thank you.”

"Not until you're healed," Dmitry said. "I won't be responsible for making it worse."

Ivan let a breath. "Thank you."

"Of course."


	14. Luck Of The Irish

After just weeks Vanya was healed. Healed from a wound that could have taken months to heal from. It should have taken years to start recuperating.

He and Nick were in Purslane, the most luxurious and expensive of his clubs. Vanya had failed to mention was also a hotel, and a quite expensive one at that.

The bar was crowded, the tables in the diner were filled. "This way," Vanya said. He took Nick's hand and led him through a door marked 'no entry'. "This will be less crowded."

There were few people inside, all dressed richly. Nick had seen all of them in magazines and in broadway shows at one point or another. "Is that Karen _Page_?"

"Yes. That is indeed her. Here with her fiance-" Vanya pointed to the man beside her, a dog sat at his feet and a cane leaned on the chair beside him. He wore bright red glasses. Matt Murdock. Heavy weight lifter, boxer. One of the first Americans to own a guide dog. "-Matt Murdock. Though we all know they aren't actually in love as they say?"

"They aren't?" Nick asked. He had seen them, read their interviews. "It sure does seem like they are."

"Nope. After all. They are _here_."

It clicked. "So they're both-"

"Yup. Can't really have that out in public now can they."

They sat at a table in the back. Matt stiffened and his shoulders squared. He turned towards them. 

Vanya grinned cockily and waved. Matt's mouth twisted into a scowl and he turned back around.

"How did he-?"

"He doesn't like me," Vanya said.

"Mhmm." The man was blind, he had no way to tell Ivan had walked in. Nick made the decision to leave it for the moment though. "So you and Petya don't look much like each other."

"Yup. He's all Russian, my mother is Irish and Russian. Two of her grandparents were Irish, two were Russian, her father is Irish. Our father met my mother after Petya's died."

"Have you ever been to Ireland before?"

"Yeah." Vanya waved a waiter over who scribbled down the name of a drink Nick didn't recognize before hurrying away. "I was born in Russia, moved to Ireland to spend some time with family there. I fought for the UK in the war."

"Is that where you learned…" Nick trailed off unsure if he should voice his question.

"You can ask. It's okay. Yes, that's when and where I learned it. And really I should have been getting paid for. Wade told me a few days ago."

“So Piotr- Petya mentioned something. You are Irish…”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“And you were shot. You healed quite quickly.”

Ivan grinned. “I must be lucky.”  
  
Nick raised an eyebrow. “You’re Irish luck saved you.”

“Let’s go with that.”

There was something Vanya was keeping from him. There had to be. Something had to have happened. In Ireland, perhaps. Nick sighed inwardly. He’d have to find out. 


	15. Kings And Red Suites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy The Great Gatsby is public domain day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: tattoo removal  
> back when there was no laser tattoo removal people would often go to doctors or surgeons to have tattoos removed. they would use this method called "dermabrasion" wear they basically wear away the tattoo

“Ready?” Dmitry asked.

  


Ivan breathed in, deep in his chest, and let the air out. He nodded. “Yes.” He lay shirtless on one of the backless benches. Laying on it he was glad for it to be cushioned. Ivan traced shapes in the velvet with a finger. 

  


He and Dmitry were in Primordial, the smallest of Ivan’s bars and clubs. It would be closed for the night. 

  


“Alright,” Dmitry murmured. 

  


There was a gentle hand brushing over the inked skin on his back and the hand pressed down. The needle came down, pricking into his skin. At one point Ivan felt the edge of a blade, removing what couldn’t be covered, or changed to look like something else. He flinched as it cut in and breathed out slowly. “Sorry,” Dmitry said and he wiped away blood and excess ink with a rag.

  


“It’s fine.” Ivan flinched again. “Keep going. I’ve had worse.”

  
  
“I know.”

  
  
Time ticked by. Ivan spent it staring at the shapes in the velvet, gliding his fingers over the fabric to distract him from blades and needles and the throbbing in his lower back. “Done,” Dmitry declared. He wet the rag and wiped the ink away and patted the skin with it. There was the cool touch of medical cream and the stickiness of tape. 

  


“Now you’re done.”

  


Dmitry flicked Ivan’s ear. “Don’t get smart with me.” He eased Ivan up and sat beside him on the bench. “You going to be alright?”

  
  
“Yeah.” Dmitry handed him his shirt and Ivan eased it on, wincing when it brushed up against the tattoo. “What is it now?” 

  


“A king.”

  


Ivan snorted. “Do you want them to accuse me of tyranny or trying to take over?”

  
  
“You saying you don’t trust me? Besides, you do have your own men. They don’t work for Anatoly. Or anyone else we work with.”

  
  
Ivan hummed. “True. I suppose.” He shifted on the bench to face Dmitry. “Dima… there is something else. The eyes… I want them gone. I know the others didn’t see them, I don’t want them, and-...”

  


“I’ll do it,” Dmitry said. He put a hand on Ivan’s knee. “You don’t need to worry.”

  
  
“Thank you.”

  


"It will be later though."

  


"I know."

  


"Can't very well have you laying on your back now can I."

  


"I _know_."


	16. Flashing Silver, Gleaming Blue

There was another party at Jay’s. All of it felt very subdued. Nick could not see Jay on his usual ledge nor was he mingling among his guests. He did find Jordan, with the girl, Mary, laughing together. He joined them and tried not to think.

*

A man was in his club. Ivan stepped out of the backroom, it served as storage and an apartment where he stayed on occasion. He flicked the main lights on. Aslan leaned against one table. He was flipping his knife in hand, blade open, the silver metal flashing. The movement was idle but Ivan knew that was not the purpose the knife served. “Ivan,” Aslan said in a drawl. “It’s nice to see you recovered.” He threw the knife up and caught it by its handle. “You healed rather quickly.”   
  
“Luck of the Irish.”   
  
“Luck indeed,” Aslan said. He looked at his knife thoughtfully, like he was thinking. “I,” he said, “have a proposition for you. You make quite a lot of money in these… places. What is it? A couple thousand a week? More?” Ivan swallowed dry in his throat. “You should be able to spare a bit. Mikhail and Sergei will be in on it, of course. Sergei is, after all, Anatoly’s third. 

“He isn’t mine,” Ivan spit. “I work for myself. No one else.”   
  
Aslan sneered, teeth flashing. “You work for them.”   
  
“ _ With _ . And Semyon will tell you a percentage of what I earn goes directly to the Ranskahov’s. Besides,” Ivan’s lip curled. “I know why you’re doing this. You saw wrong.”

He moved suddenly then, Aslan grabbed Ivan by the back of his neck, pinned him to the wall. “We’ll see about that,” he snarled in his ear. He yanked Ivan’s shirt up, stared at the tattoo, gleaming blue on black, on his back. His eyes went wide suddenly. “What..?” 

“I told you,” Ivan growled. He forced Aslan back and righted his shirt. “Now if you’ll  _ excuse me _ I have to open.” He went behind the bar and flicked a switch. The ‘Gorizont’ on the wall lit up, stark against the bright ceiling lights. Ivan came back around, flicked off the ceiling lights and plugged in the cord that lit up the fairy lights. He pushed past Aslan on his way out the door. “Dmitry will see you out. Don’t show up again.” Ivan turned around, faced Aslan, met his eyes. “Understand? Now leave,” he barked. 

The door closed and he moved down the sidewalk, not bothering to see if Aslan had actually left. His heart pounded in his chest, a rhythm that made his legs wake and head faint. 

Lady’s Slippers was the next to be opened. It was named for Dorothy’s ruby red shoes. It was a favourite, and a staple in Ivan’s earnings. The red, black lined furniture sat low, sat around black tables. The floor was black tile, Ivan always thought of changing it but the tile was easy to clean and its colour matched the rest of the club. 

He checked they were stocked on drinks and food. He pulled the few tables that weren’t yet set up away from the wall and did one last check of the place. Everything done he sat and waited for the band and his people who’d be working the club for the night. 


	17. Chapter 17

Both Nick and Ivan were in Gorizont. The night before Ivan had shown Nick the new tattoo. Or rather what Dmitry had done to change it. Faint white scares ran through it and in places the ink was richer. Ivan had lain there while Nick ran his hands over the tattoo over his back, taking it all in. 

Three kids came in. The two walking beside the middle one lit up and ran over to Vanya, tugging along with them the startled looking boy in the middle. 

“Hi Vanya!” The one of the left said. Her hair was long and brown. 

“Hi.” The one of the right was a rather young looking boy. His black hair was cropped rather close to his head and the clothes he wore were ill fitting. 

Vanya grinned then tugged Nick closer. “Nick, this is Margaret and James. Who’s your friend?”

Margaret pushed the boy in front of her a little. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked down so his hair hung in his eyes. It was longer than what was usual of boys his age. “Well,” Margaret said. “Introduce yourself.”

“Ruth,” the boy mumbled. 

“Ruth?” Nick mouthed. He looked at Vanya. 

Vanya smiled at the kids. He squeezed Nick’s elbow hard. Nick frowned and blinked up at him. 

James poked Ruth in the back. “Go on. You can tell him.”   
  
Ruth swallowed. “My… parents kicked me out.” Ruth drew in a shuddering breath and it was let out in a sob. “They- they said-”

“Shh.” Vanya let go of Nick and put a hand on Ruth’s shoulder. “It isn’t your fault.” He drew Ruth in for a hug. “You can stay. There’s apartments upstairs.”

“Thank you.” Ruth sobbed a little into his shoulder.    
  
“Of course. I’ll help you. I promise.” Vanya drew away and put a hand on Ruth’s shoulder. “This way.” Vanya led the kids upstairs. He didn’t ask Nick to follow. He did anyway. There was a door, on the far end, painted as black as the walls. Vanya opened it. It led to a small steep staircase, leading up. 

The stairs ended at a landing. There was another door, looking old and aging still. The brown paint on the door was peeling and pieces of wood were chipped off at the bottom of the door. Vanya winced and looked at Ruth apologetically. “Sorry,” he said. “I haven’t been up here for a while. Some of the furniture got the door when I was moving it up here.

The door opened to one large room. There was a king sized bed pushed against two walls. In the middle of the wall facing them there was a dingy window, looking out the street and to the neighbouring apartment. There was a wardrobe sitting next to a dresser. To the other side of the wardrobe was an open door leading into a bathroom. The walls and floor were white, along with the white ceramic sink toilet and tub. There was a shower curtain around the tub, on it paling pastel coloured flowers. 

“I’ll get sheets for the bed,” Vanya said. He opened one of the bottom dresser drawers and pulled out the bed covers. “There are extra blankets in the other bottom drawer if you need them. The wardrobe should be empty.” Vanya strode over to the bed, arms full of sheets, and dumped the bed clothes on it. “I can get curtains for the window if you’d like.”   
  
“Thank you,” Ruth said in a quiet mumbling voice. “So much. This means-” a gasp of breath and Ruth swallowed back a sob “-so much to me.” 

Vanya looked at Ruth, eyes achingly kind and full of  _ love _ , mouth curved upwards in a small smile. “Anytime.”

The bed was made and Vanya measured the window. “For tomorrow,” he said. He was going to buy a curtain. He hadn’t felt the need for one and when people stayed it was for one or two days. Not for an unknown amount of time. Or permanently. 

  
Nick went back to his own place. Not to vanya’s and Vanya didn’t stay at his, only lingered inside so he could press a kiss to his cheek before leaving. Nick touched a finger to his cheek, it still felt warm. A smile curled on his lips and he fell into his warm bed, still thinking of it. Of him.  _ Vanya _ . 


	18. In Love With Another

The kids had settled in. Ivan had just made it back to Gorizont. He brought food up to Ruth. She had said she wanted to be alone for a while. James and Margaret had found a table wedged in a corner under a coil of the strung up fairy lights. 

He brought them food, just a bowl of nuts and sandwiches. Ivan also brought a margarita. Virgin. Because though he was illegally selling alcohol and was illegally operating the clubs he wouldn’t stoop to giving children alcohol. Lately they had been begging to try one and Ivan relented, saying they could as long as they shared one.    
  
Once they had their food he went back down, introduced the next performers and went to the bar to get a drink for himself. “It’s been busy,” Dmitry commented. Ivan nodded and sipped at his drink. “Are you going to see the mister tonight?”

Ivan shrugged then sighed. He set his drink on the counter and looked up, shoulders hanging. “What am I doing?” he wondered aloud. 

“Working.” Dmitry went to make a patron’s drink then hurried back, wiping his hand on a cloth. “You’re happy. Aren’t you?”   
  
Ivan shrugged and looked down. He stirred his drink with its straw idly. “I don’t know,” he said, in Russian this time. “There has to be more to life than this.” 

“What more could you want?”

He just shrugged, secretly afraid of the answer. 

“You were happy in Ireland.”   
  
“Yeah,” Ivan murmured. He clasped his hands and stared down at the counter hard, trying to avoid Dmitry’s prying gaze. 

Dmitry was silent for a moment, let the silence stretch until Ivan felt suffocated. FInally, when Ivan was about to say something or just leave to escape, Dmitry asked, “Why  _ did  _ you leave? You had a house, away from people, I knew you liked the privacy. You had your family. You had Louis-”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Ivan. He glared down at the counter. “Ah,” Dmitry said. “There it is. The reason you came running here.”   
  
“ _ Don’t _ .” Ivan’s words were sharp even to his own ears and he winced.

“It’s close, isn’t it,” Dmitry said. “What was it? His birthday? Your anniversary? The day he died.”   
  
“Don’t,” Ivan snapped, teeth clicking together then grinding once his mouth was closed. “Just… don’t.” 

“You know I think Nick is the first person you found since Louis. At least one you actually like. One you plan on spending your life with.”   
  
Ivan slumped on the counter, laying his chin on one forearm, tracing the rim of his glass with the other hand. His coat bunched under him and around his arms and he was thinking of removing it. His skin crawled and itched under his clothes. He sat upright quickly, kaing his head spin. He tipped the glass back, swallowing his drink with one gulp. “There’s been others. Not just them.”   
  


“I don’t count them.”   
  
“Of course you don’t.”   
  


“You’re still mourning him. Aren’t you.”   
  
Ivan snorted. “I barely remember him now.”  _ Think of him. His smile. His face. His  _ **_eyes_ ** _. _ “God I feel horrible. I’m trying to forget him. I don’t want to but...” 

“It feels like a lifetime ago.”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“You do spend a lot of time drunk Or close to it.”   
  
“And you don’t?” Ivan shot back. 

Dmitry shrugged. “Touche.”

“Maybe I  _ will  _ go back. I’ll invite Matthew. He can bring Karen… We’ll see the home of our ancestors.”

“My guess is you aren’t talking about your human ones.” Dmitry cracked the lid off a bottle and drank. He caught Ivan’s eye and raised an eyebrow when he saw his open mouthed expression. “What? Did you think I did not know? No person would be named Coreopsis or Mahogany.”   
  
“Unbelievable.”   
  
Dmitry only shrugged. “You should give people more credit than you already do. Know about Louis. Maybe you’d feel better if you’d actually talk about it.”  _ Him  _ Ivan knew Dmitry meant. “I know you don’t want to bury those feelings.”   
  
“It’s hard to be in love with a dead man.” There was exhaustion creeping into his voice now. Ivan stood suddenly. “I’m making coffee.”   
  
“We aren’t done talking.”   
  
“I have work to do,” Ivan called over his shoulder, not looking back.    
  


“What about your coffee?”   
  
“Forget it!” He went back to the stage, pasted on a smile, thanked the group, and invited the next person up. He stayed, standing, leaning against the wall and tried to forget.


	19. Chapter 19

It would be the last party of the summer, Jay Gatsby had said. It was more extravagant than usual, dancers dripping in brightly coloured jewels, long feathers tied into their hair, looking to be from tropical birds. Their dresses shone and sparkled under brightly lit chandeliers. 

There was a full orchestra; strings and woodwinds and shining brass. 

Ivan didn’t see him again after the night. Even then he only saw him a few moments. He spent most of the night in a room with Nick after he arrived, relieved to be away from the prying eyes of Wolfsheim, Parke, Aslan, Sergei. The others. Jay Gatsby himself. 

When Nick left, to seek out Jay and Jordan Ivan stayed upstairs, away from the throngs of people. He saw the way Nick’s eyes lit up when he spotted Jordan Baker from across the room, talking ecstatically, animatedly with Mary. Saw his eyes when he saw Jay Gatsby and the way they shined when Jay came over to talk to him. 

It’d be hypocritical, he knew, to say Nick couldn’t love multiple people. Not with the way he loved Louis and longed for him to be at his side. But he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy he felt deep in his chest whenever he saw it. 

Soon after the party all of Jay’s servants and staff were fired. The delivery boy said the kitchen was a mess, discarded food left out sitting, half empty bottles of alcohol forgotten. 

Daisy went over everyday, Ivan heard from Nick. They were spending their afternoons together when Tom was away at work.

There were rumours. About Daisy and Jay’s relationship. Myrtle and George. A yellow car, hurling down the road. Jay and Daisy, driving. 

Ivan retreated away from it all. Spending his days doing long overdue paperwork. He had healed enough he was able to join Wade again and go out on solo jobs. 

Nick, he knew, wasn't pleased. The police started picking up the trail, sniffing out Ivan’s and Wade’s tracks. Wade disappeared. Ivan kept to Purslane, keeping guests and patrons happy, the other guests' secrets close. They suspected nothing.

The police were using Matthew, with his connections to Franklin and his knowing of the comings and goings of the city's people, to track down him and Wade. Little did they know Matthew kept his own secrets as well, grasped in a tight hold, firehot in his chest. No one suspects a blind man. 

It happened, not as Ivan suspected it would, but it still happened. Even so. No one in their business lived long. 


	20. Whispered Words

The air was hot. Vanya had a fan on, it whirred gently and the background and washed cool air over their naked bodies. They were pressed close together, even with the lingering heat. Vanya had his arms around Nick. He was dozing, snoring, breathing puffs of air onto Nick’s skin.

“Vanya?” Nick’s voice was quiet. He almost didn’t want to voice his thoughts. 

“Hmm?” Vanya nuzzled his ear and pulled him closer. 

“What are we doing?”

  
  
“Sleeping,” Vanya murmured, face now pressed into Nick’s shoulder. 

There was silence before Nick turned on his side to face Vanya. He grumbled as Nick turned out of his arms and cracked an eye open. “I thought we were sleeping.”

“What are we doing?”

Vanya sighed, his eye falling closed. He propped himself up on one elbow and opened both eyes lazily. “What do you mean?”

“What are we?”

A gentle finger touched under Nick’s chin and lifted it. He looked into Vanya’s eyes. Gentle, full and happy and content. “Together. Aren’t we?”

There was a note of fear in Vanya’s voice. Nick hated to hear it.

“I feel like there’s something wrong,” he confessed. He looked down, not wanting to meet Vanya’s eyes. Didn’t want to see the disappoint or anger he was afraid to find in them.

Vanya’s hand, warm and calloused, cupped his jaw. “Look at me dorogaya,” he said gently and Nick met his eyes again. “What’s wrong?”   
  


The words were on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t say them. Vanya waited, patient, watching Nick gently, while the seconds passed before he spoke. “With me,” he said, tongue stumbling and catching on the words. “I don’t know how I can do this.”

There was a strange look on Vanya’s face. He laid back down and took his hand away from Nick’s face. “What do you mean?”

Nick sat up and crossed his legs. The blankets fell from the side of the bed and he picked them up and covered himself, suddenly wanting to hide away. “This just feels wrong.” he put his elbow on his knee, grasped his hair with the hand. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, drawing away from the world. “I feel like something is eating my insides. Clawing at me.”

“Nick?” Vanya’s voice was trembling and Nick swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  
  
“It’s not a good feeling. It feels wrong.”

“Do you? Do you know what causes it? Nick? Nick, I-”

“I-...” 

“Nick?”

“I’m sorry.”

And finally, Nick let his hand fall to the bed beside him and he looked at Vanya. His eyes were shining and he was biting his lip. “Do you want this? Me?” 

“Vanya-”

“Do you!? Because right now it seems like you’re regretting what we’ve done.”

  
  
“Vanya-”

“Just answer the question, Nick.” His expression hardened, mouth in a line, eyes narrowed.    
  
“That’s not what I meant.” Nick reached for him and Vanya rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Nick drew his hands back. “I’m just… All my life I’ve been told what I feel is wrong.”

“And you think I haven’t?” Vanya’s voice was bitter and it cracked on the last words. “Seriously Nick? Do you  _ know  _ where I grew up? And now I’m  _ finally  _ comfortable-” he cut himself off suddenly then and turned so his back was facing Nick. 

“How is it supposed to be possible I can be in love with multiple people? How? It’s never happened before and the church would never allow it.”

  
  
“Fuck the church then.”

  
  
“Vanya-”

  
  
“I meant it. And it’s not impossible. You’re proof of it.”

  
  
Nick sighed. “I just feel…” 

“I’m going to sleep,” Vanya said. He pulled the bed covers up over his shoulder and they fell off Nick’s lap. Nick watched him, the rise and fall of his shoulder. Nick laid down on his back and turned his head. There wasn’t the usual whispered ‘goodnights’ and I love you’s”. They always came from Vanya more than himself, Nick realized. He scooted closer until skin was pressed against skin. 

Where ink met flesh Nick put his hand. The playing card. What it used to mean. What it meant now. If it meant anything at all after Dmitry changed. Nick saw the white lines running through the blue lines and knew it had to have been hurt to have been removed. “I’m sorry,” he said. There was no response. 


	21. The End Of All Things

Up on the rooftop, it wasn’t hot. The wind stirred around him. Now Ivan was just in black pants and a black tank top. Skintight and silken to the touch the fabrics were. His feet dangled off the roof, back straight, head thrown back to the sky. 

The moon shown on his skin. The birds and tattooed rings glowed in the moonlight. Ivan set the empty bottle beside him and drew another one from the cooler that sat beside him. He popped off the cap and brought it to his lips. 

“I thought I’d find you up here.” The rooftop door closed and someone walked over and sat beside him. Wade reached into the cooler and took a bottle for himself.  
  
“Hi Wade,” Ivan said. He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his arms.  
  
Wade put an arm around his shoulders. “Rough day?”

“He doesn’t love me,” Ivan murmured around the bottle. He drank again and could feel Wade’s eyes on him.

A hand squeezed his arm. He flinched before remembering Wade. “Aren’t you cold?”  
  
“I grew up in fucking Russia. What makes you think I’m cold?”  
  
“Well you do always wear that coat. You know, the big fur one. The black and blue one.”  
  
“I know what coat you’re talking about,” Ivan snapped.

There was silence between them before Wade said, “What makes you think Nick doesn’t love you?”  
  
“Oh I don’t know,” Ivan said bitterly. “Maybe because he said he felt wrong after we-” he caught himself off with a sharp exhale. “He hardly ever says it.” Ivan looked up, rested his head on Wade’s shoulder. Wade looked at him with sad eyes. “You understand. Not like he does.” He tilted his head up, reaching for Wade.

Wade drew back. “You don’t want this.”  
  
“I _do_.”

“No,” Wade said, voice gentle and firm. “You only think you do.”  
  
He moved his arm so it was under Ivan’s shoulders and helped him stand. “Up you go. Let’s get you inside.”

“The drinks-”

“We can get them later.”

“They’ll _spoil_.”

“They won’t.”

Wade tightened his grip around Ivan and nudged him forward. “I’m not a child. I don’t need _carried_ .” Ivan stumbled then, tripping over his own feet. He grit his teeth, screwed his eyes shut.  
  
“That’s why I’m not carrying you.” Wade opened the rooftop door and walked with Ivan down the hall. He stopped at one door, and pulled out a key. “Of course you fucking stole my key,” Ivan said bitterly. 

“You can have it back when you’re sober.”  
  
“I’m not _drunk_.”

Once inside Wade walked Ivan to the bed, cursing the room's large size and pushed him onto the mattress. Ivan kicked off his shoes and Wade set them on the floor. “He hates me,” Ivan said and he pulled the covers over his shoulder and up to his chin.

“He doesn’t hate you.”  
  
“Well he doesn’t love me.”  
  
“What about this?” Wade asked. He set a hand on the prosthetic that now sat beside the bed. “Does he care?”  
  
“No… That’s a shitty thing to say.”  
  
“He doesn't care about your job.”  
  
“He does actually. Both of them. He judges quite a lot. And I saw the way he was looking at the kids.”  
  
Wade sighed and sat on the bed beside Ivan. “Go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”  
  
Ivan closed his eyes. “I miss him,” he said suddenly. “So much.”

“So it’s around that time then.”  
  
“Anytime I look at anything I think of him. Summer, fields, Ireland, forests, wooded areas. Fucking grass. We knew each other so long. Went so many places together...” 

“You two must have really loved each other.”  
  
“I wanted to marry him. I would have if he hadn’t-” Ivan’s voice broke and he let out a sob.

“I know. I know.”


	22. The End Of All Things

“I’m going to drain the pool today, Mr. Gatsby. They leaves’ll start falling pretty soon and then there’s always trouble with the pipes.” 

“Don’t do it today,” Gatsby said. He turned to Nick, looking apologetically. “You know, old sport, I’ve never used that pool all summer.” 

Nick looked at my watch and stood up. “There’s twelve minutes to my train.” He didn’t want to go to the city. As much as Jay loved Daisy Nick could help from the feelings he had for him. Couldn’t help but remember Vanya’s words from the night before. He had left sometime before Nick had woken. Nick missed that train and another before he finally left. 

“I’ll call you up,” Nick said.

“Do, old sport.” 

“Around noon. I’ll call.” 

They walked slowly down the steps. “I suppose Daisy’ll call too,” Jay said. He looked at Nick anxiously as if he hoped Nick would confirm what he said. 

“I suppose so,” is all Nick would say. 

“Well. Goodbye.” 

The two shook hands and Nick started away. Just as Nick reached the hedge he turned around. “They’re a rotten crowd,” Nick shouted across the lawn. “You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.” Later he was always glad he said that.

First Jay nodded politely, and then his face broke into that radiant and understanding smile. His gorgeous pink suit looked to be a bright spot of color against the white marble steps and Nick thought of the night when he first came to Jay’s home for the party those three months before. The lawn and drive had been crowded with life. With the faces of those who guessed and rumoured. Jay had stood on those very steps as he did now as he waved them goodbye. Nick thanked him. “Goodbye,” he called. “I enjoyed breakfast, Gatsby.” Nick left then, to work. 

*

Later, as promised he called. Nick stood, phone in hand. There was a sound like a car backfiring. Nick’s hand went to his mouth and the phone fell to the floor.  
  


*  
  
Up on the rooftop it wasn’t hot. The wind stirred around him. Now Ivan was just in black pants and a black tank top. Skin tight and silken to the touch the fabrics were. His feet dangled off the roof, back straight, head thrown back to the sky. 

The moon shown on his skin. The birds and tattooed rings glowed in the moonlight. Ivan set the empty bottle beside him and drew another one from the cooler that sat beside him. He popped off the cap and brought it to his lips. 

“I thought I’d find you up here.” The rooftop door closed and someone walked over and sat beside him. Wade reached into the cooler and took a bottle for himself.  
  
“Hi Wade,” Ivan said. He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his arms.  
  
Wade put an arm around his shoulders. “Rough day?”

“He doesn’t love me,” Ivan murmured around the bottle. He drank again and could feel Wade’s eyes on him.

A hand squeezed his arm. He flinched before remembering Wade. “Aren’t you cold?”  
  
“I grew up in fucking Russia. What makes you think I’m cold?”  
  
“Well you do always wear that coat. You know, the big fur one. The black and blue one.”  
  
“I know what coat you’re talking about,” Ivan snapped.

There was silence between them before Wade said, “What makes you think Nick doesn’t love you?”  
  
“Oh I don’t know,” Ivan said bitterly. “Maybe because he said he felt wrong after we-” he caught himself off with a sharp exhale. “He hardly ever says it.” Ivan looked up, rested his head on Wade’s shoulder. Wade looked at him with sad eyes. “You understand. Not like he does.” He tilted his head up, reaching for Wade.

Wade drew back. “You don’t want this.”  
  
“I _do_.”

“No,” Wade said, voice gentle and firm. “You only think you do.”  
  
He moved his arm so it was under Ivan’s shoulders and helped him stand. “Up you go. Let’s get you inside.”

“The drinks-”

“We can get them later.”

“They’ll _spoil_.”

“They won’t.”

Wade tightened his grip around Ivan and nudged him forward. “I’m not a child. I don’t need _carried_ .” Ivan stumbled then, tripping over his own feet. He grit his teeth, screwed his eyes shut.  
  
“That’s why I’m not carrying you.” Wade opened the rooftop door and walked with Ivan down the hall. He stopped at own door, and pulled out a key. “Of course you fucking stole my key,” Nick said bitterly. 

“You can have it back when you’re sober.”  
  
“I’m not _drunk_.”

Once inside Wade walked Ivan to the bed, cursing the rooms large sized and pushed onto the mattress. Ivan kicked off his shoes and Wade set them on floor. “He hates me,” Ivan said and he pulled the covers over his shoulder and up to his chin.

“He doesn’t hate you.”  
  
“Well he doesn’t love me.”  
  
“What about this?” Wade asked. He set a hand on the prosthetic that now sat beside the bed. “Does he care?”  
  
“No… That’s a shitty thing to say.”  
  
“He doesn't care about your job.”  
  
“He does actually. Both of them. He judges quite a lot. And I saw the way he was looking at the kids.”  
  
Wade sighed and sat on the bed beside Ivan. “Go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”  
  
Ivan closed his eyes. “I miss him,” he said suddenly. “So much.”

“So it’s around that time then.”  
  
“Anytime I look at anything I think of him. Summer, fields, Ireland, forests, wooded areas. Fucking grass. We knew each other so long. Went so many places together...” 

“You two must have really loved each other.”  
  
“I wanted to marry him. I would have if he hadn’t-” Ivan’s voice broke and he let out a sob.

“I know. I know.”


	23. Chapter 23

Eventually, he fell asleep, Wade sitting beside him. 

Ivan woke slowly, the sounds of birds flowing in through the windows, the curtains stirred, moved by the fan. The whirring was quiet, background noise. Wade, was gone, his familiar weight no longer on the bed.

He opened his eyes. Already they felt dry and crusted. Ivan sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

The light coming in from the windows was bright and grey. Ivan stood, went to them, and opened the curtains. He unlocked and pushed open the door and stepped out onto the balcony. 

Already cars were going by, stirring up the air, and spilling ash and smoke out into the air. Ivan breathed in and let the breath out. He rested his forearms on the balcony's rail and let his chin fall on his arms. He sighed. 

He watched the city awhile, the buildings waking up with the people inside him. Cars spilled into the hotel's parking lot, guests already arriving to check in. His employees would need to be paid today. 

A phone rang in his room, disturbing the quiet. Ivan sighed and went back in. He picked it up and held it to his ear. "Hello?" he said, voice rough from sleep and the night before. 

"Ivan Romanovich?" One of the receptionists, James, voice filtered in. Sounding confused, suspicious. And idly enough distressed.

"Yes, James?"

"Gorizont called. A Nick Carraway called them? Dmitry Ilyich said you knew him? Is that correct?"

"Yes," Ivan said shortly.  _ Get on with it. _

"Do you want me to put him through?"

"Might as well." Ivan tapped his foot against the floor, waiting.

"Gospodin, if you don't mind me asking… he isn't another one of your exploits, is he? You know Purslane's reputation. Are you sure you want to-" 

"Put him through James," Ivan snapped. "And I do mind you asking. What I do in my spare time is none of your concern nor business and neither are my partners. You will do well to stay out of it. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Gospodin. My apologies. I did not mean to intrude-"

" _ Put him through damn it _ !" 

"Yes, Gospodin. Right away Gospodin." There was a click and then the fuzzy silence. Ivan growled under his breath. He paced the room, and shook himself off. He moved back to the phone, leaned against the wall, foot beating out an erratic rhythm against the floor. 

There was another click and the fuzziness was gone. "Vanya!" Nick cried.

"Nick."

"It took them forever to put me through. I've been trying all night… You weren't at Gorizont, I don't have your home number-"

"Maybe because I don't have one here," Ivan muttered under his breath.

"What was that? Vanya… it's horrible."

"Have you been crying?"

"Vanya… Jay's dead. He was murdered."

Ivan froze, white-hot panic filling his veins. "What?" His voice came out choked and he swallowed.

"He's dead." Nick was sobbing now.

Even through everything Ivan wished to be there to comfort him. "Kolya…" Ivan swallowed again. "Nick- I- I don't know what to say. Are you sure?"

"I'm here now. At his house. The police are here. He was shot." Nick let out a sob and it continued for several minutes before Nick let out a trembling breath. "If I had been here. If I hadn't gone to work yesterday. If I had stayed  _ five minutes longer _ -" a sob cut him off "-maybe he wouldn't have been killed." 

"Oh, Nick…"

"What do I do?"

"Who killed him?"

"They think it was George, Myrtle's husband George. He's here too." There was a silence before, in a quiet voice, Nick said, "He's dead too. He shot himself."

"Nick I can't be involved."

"Why not?" Nick cried. "You haven't done anything."

"I haven't done anything to Jay," Ivan said grimly. "The police don't like me anyways. If I show up there they'll end up taking me in for questioning and end up arresting me for murder."

"Well maybe if you weren't a criminal…" 

"You're choosing now to criticize my career choices?! You are unbelievable Nick!"

"Am I wrong!? I'm right and if you don't know it or believe then you aren't-!"

"Aren't what Nick?" Ivan said in a dangerous voice. "Say it." 

Nick went silent. "Vanya…" his voice was trembling.

"Unbelievable," Ivan muttered. He slammed the phone back down. 

He paced the room, flexing his hands, fingers curling in and out of fists. He went to his windows and flung them shut, nearly tearing one from its rod. 

There was a knock at his door. Ivan whirled around. "What," he snarled. 

The door opened and Wade strode in. "Why hello to you too." He set a bag and to-go cup on the dresser. He looked at Ivan. "What's got you all ruffled."

"Nothing," Ivan snapped.

"Uh-huh. Well, 'nothing' seems to have got you quite upset." 

"I'm not upset."

"Sure you aren't. You're perfectly fine-"

"I  _ am _ ."

Wade frowned at him. "You didn't let me finish." Ivan rolled his eyes. Wade tsked at him. "Well I was gonna tell you what I bought but-"

Ivan ignored him and strode over to the dresser. He grabbed at the bag and opened it. "Whaddya get?" 

"Nope." Wade grabbed the bag from him and pulled it across the dresser closer to himself. "Feelings talk first. Then food. You can have your coffee." Wade nudged it closer to Ivan. 

Ivan grabbed the cup and sighed. "I don't want to talk about my  _ feelings _ ."

"Too bad. Team building and all that." 

Wade walked to Ivan's bed and sat. He patted the spot beside him and looked at Ivan expectantly. 

Ivan sighed. "Wade…"

"Come sit."

Ivan sat beside him.

"So…" Wade said. "What happened?"

Ivan drank his coffee. Wade waited and watched. Ivan shifted on the bed, Wade's gaze weighing on him and he finally sighed. "Jay's dead. Nick wants me to do something about it. What he wants me to do exactly I don't know. I can't get involved. And again, he got upset and said what I do is wrong."

"Did he say that or did you infer that." 

"He  _ implied _ it."

Wade put a hand on Ivan's shoulder. Ivan sighed and shifted closer. Wade put an arm around Ivan's shoulders and pulled him closer. "Come on," he said. "Healing hugs. That's it." 

Ivan rolled his eyes but let Wade pull him closer. "Pelvis to pelvis-"

He rolled his eyes again. "Okay, Wade. We aren't standing and I'm not sitting on your lap."

"You seemed to want to last night."

"Oh my god, Wade." 

"Blasphemy." Ivan pulled back and drank more coffee. Wade held him tighter. "You aren't hugging," Wade said. "This is supposed to be a hug."

"Hang on." Ivan set his coffee on the bedside table and wrapped his arms around Wade. 

"There we go. That's it." 

Ivan nuzzled closer. "I suppose this is nice." Wade rested his chin on top of Ivan's head. "Wade?"

"Yes?" 

"What do I do?"

"Only you can decide that." Wade clapped him on the back and pulled away. Ivan clutched at him tighter for a moment for drawing back.

"Thank you," he said, and wiped his eyes. "I suppose I did need that."

"Well, there you go." Wade stood and grabbed the bag. "Where's your kitchen again?"

"Where's my key?"

Wade spun it on his finger before tossing it to Ivan. Ivan caught it and shoved it into his front pants pocket.

"I don't know how you manage to fit anything in those pockets," Wade said, eyeing Ivan.

"They aren't that tight Wade. Imagine me showing up to work in those kinds of clothes."

"So you're saying you have pants that are even tighter."

"Wade you are dating Vanessa. And you turned me down last night."

"You were drunk. And I am dating Vanessa. Do you own tighter pants?"

Ivan rolled his eyes and led Wade out of his bedroom and into the hall. “No Wade. I don’t. I would like to keep the circulation in my leg where it belongs.” He closed the door and went to another door. He opened it, stepped inside and gestured for wade to come in.

"You have no food," Wade announced after searching the entirety of Ivan's kitchen.

"I never said I did."

"What do you eat?"

"Who said I do?" Wade gave him a flat look. Ivan sighed. "Dima usually just makes something at Gorizont and I eat there."

Wade tsked. “That won’t do.” 

“As if you do any better.”

Wade gasped in mock hurt and brought his hands in front of his heart.”Hasn’t anyone told you words hurt Vanka?”

Ivan snorted and shook his head.

Looking around for the first time in he didn’t know how long Ivan saw dust spiralling in the air and settling in thin coats on top of his counters and table. Wade was  _ lucky  _ he didn’t have any food here. If he did it would have been rotten. His staff definitely would have been unhappy with him. Ivan sneezed. 

“You know,” he said, “I don’t think I spend enough time here.”

Wade came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist before tugging him close. Ivan sighed but allowed the affection. “Where do you spend all your time then?”

Ivan twisted around, briefly meeting Wade’s eyes, before looking away again. “Well usually I’m working whether it be here, one of the clubs, hits with you or going solo… sleeping? Other people’s houses. Or the apartment above whatever club I decided to pass out at.”

Wade hrmphed and his breath ruffled Ivan’s hair. “That’s not good for you,”: he chastised. 

“And everything else we do is oh so healthy?”

They were silent for a moment, just standing there. Ivan slipped out of Wade’s arms. “I suppose I should see to Nick.” He rubbed his eyes and let out a quiet groan. 

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No.” He still stood there, silent and half turned to the door. He twisted around, back to Wade and threw him the keys before leaving. He would just break in anyways and Ivan didn’t want to be dealing with any picked locks or broken door handles. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :) !


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